Torn
by SarkyBlueEyes
Summary: In a bid to escape Blaine's bullies, the Andersons move to Ohio. Under strict orders from his Dad to hide his sexuality, Blaine is torn between pretending he is straight, and the cute boy next door whose singing floats through his bedroom window at night.
1. The Move

**A/N: Hey, this is the first fanfiction I've ever posted so be nice lovelies. Yes I am British. I apologise in advance for any slips. I use the US spell checker on Word for this but I don't know how accurate it is so if you spot any obvious britishisms, just pretend its not there or its a character quirk :P**

**This will be multi-chaptered by the way, and I'll do my best to update fairly regularly, provided real life doesnt get in the way. In case your wondering, I do have a plan. Its not all written out, but I know where its headed. It's a slow burner but bear with it and things will get romantic. Thanks for choosing my little fic to read :) **

**Warning: If you don't like boy on boy I suggest you hit the back button. Later chapters will have this and I'll ignore any claims there was no warning.**

**Disclaimer: No I don't own Glee sadly. Ryan Murphy and Fox do. If I did I would buy myself a better car and a lifetime supply of chocolate.**

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><p><strong>Chapter One – The Move<strong>

"You can't just leave! Your whole world is here."

That was my friend's first reaction when I told them the news; that my dad after years of threatening to do so had bagged a job in Ohio and would be moving the family from New Jersey to Ohio.

When I say 'friends', I mean the only two people in the whole of my school who actually had the guts to hang anywhere near me. It all started back in middle school, when Peter Lance accused me of peeking at him in gym class. How do you explain to a jock two heads taller than you that your mind was elsewhere? That I was thinking hungrily about the day ending so I could go home and have some of Mom's lasagna? That his last growth spurt and my lack of one had, much to my misfortune, put his crotch in my eye line as I sat on the bench opposite him? I won't deny it looked bad. Mom's lasagna tends to make me drool, but come on; he didn't have to slam me against a locker and threaten to cut mine off.

From that day on there had been an imaginary perimeter around me. Word spreads fast in middle school, let me tell you. Previously unasked questions were now answered in my classmates' eyes, questions they'd never even thought of before. It all made sense now why my thirteen year old self had never had a girlfriend. It didn't matter that half the other boys also never had.

I thought it would stop when I entered high school but if anything it got worse. Much worse.

"Blaine?"

I looked up at Jade from my position on the grassy courtyard and shrugged in response. Jade sighed and sat beside me. I hunched over my bent knees and concentrated on touching my toes. I knew without seeing that Jade was having a silent conversation with Matt who flanked us from above even as she pulled my right hand away from my foot and held it tightly.

"You could stay at mine," Matt spoke up. "Mom loves you. She's always using you as an example of what I should be like."

I smiled at that. "That's because you never do as she asks."

"And because you go out of your way to be the perfect gentlemen every time you visit." Matt rolled his eyes. "_Do you want me to get that, Mrs. Sampson? The meat loaf was incredible, shall I clear the table Mrs Sampson_?"

I blushed and slapped him in the only place I could reach; his shin.

"Homo."

All three of us turned to glare at Peter Lance and his cronies who sneered down at us as they passed. I wrapped my arms around my knees and squeezed.

"And the award for least original insult goes to the one and only king douche himself," Jade snapped.

"Kiss my ass Harrison," Peter said and made a gesture down near his crotch. "Or his. He won't enjoy it, but you can try." He laughed openly at his own joke and accepted several high fives from around him.

Jade made to stand up, but I grabbed her arm and held her down. Peter and his friends walked off making lewd gestures and I didn't release my grip until they were around a corner.

Jade turned her furious gaze on me. "I could have taken that asshole, Blaine. And why the fuck did they high five him that? It wasn't even clever what he said."

"It won't make a difference," I said miserably. "You're just giving him what he wants."

"His dick ripped off and reattached to his face?"

"I'm leaving anyway, Jade, you won't have to put up with that for much longer."

Her frown softened. She grazed her index finger over the yellowing bruise under my eye; the reminder of last week's annual game of Cat and Mouse (or 'Douche and Blaine' as Matt called it). The games 212th round was imminent.

"You know we don't care about that B," she said.

"They'll have no reason to torment you when I'm not here, guys."

"Well that's bullshit," Matt said flopping down on the grass beside us. "And trust me, he won't stop. And even if he does, I'll find a way to pick a fight with him anyway. You don't drive my best friend away and get away with it."

Jade grabbed his hand and pulled it into her lap. Matt smiled warmly and I watched with my head propped on my knee as he rubbed his thumb up and down the back of her hand. My mouth lifted up into the smallest trace of a smile. I wanted to believe they would miss me as much as they were saying, but the truth was I had always been the third wheel in this friendship. Even back in middle school when they were still arguing and pretending like they didn't like each other all that much, I always sat on the sideline annoyed at how dense they were, jealous of how open they could be about their feelings, resenting the fact they had the luxury of expressing that attraction and weren't taking the precious opportunity.

They were the best friends I could ever ask for. They looked out for me. Never wavered in their loyalty, and yet I always felt that they'd be so much better off without me.

"Why Ohio?" Matt asked.

"It was the only office Dad's company had available,' I mumbled. "Why?"

"Cos uh," Matt shifted a bit. "Isn't Ohio like notoriously homophobic?"

"Probably."

"So how's that better than here?" Jade piped up. I could see their point. Truth be told, people mostly just kept to themselves in my town. They gossiped though. I'd heard the whispers in the supermarket as I helped Mom push the cart, each rumor more farfetched than the last.

"_Is that the … homosexual one?"_

"_Mr. Lance still holds Mr. Anderson responsible for the incident in gym class. He says he should have more control over his son."_

"_What happened?"_

"_Apparently some of the boys caught the Anderson boy doing … you know to … poor peter."_

"_No? Really?"_

Lies, lies, LIES!

But it could have been worse.

'_Mindless lies and needless gossip,_' Mom refers to it as on the odd occasion she acknowledges the talk at all. If we don't talk about it, it isn't happening as far as she's concerned. I'd known for a while it was getting to her and Dad. Way before he announced the move; I just wasn't expecting Dad to make such a drastic decision.

"_A change of scenery will be good for us, Blaine. We can get away from all the lies, have a fresh start. You'd like that, wouldn't you?"_ he'd said.

The question was rhetorical, the decision made without mine or my little sister Saffron's consultation. Probably even without Mom's. I felt obliged to agree.

"Blaine?"

I hesitated. "Dad's asked me to keep quiet," I said vaguely, scratching the back of my head.

"Quiet, about what?" Matt's face creased in confusion. Jade seemed to get my meaning though - her eyebrows shot up passed her fringe.

"About … being gay?"

I nodded.

"He wants you to pretend you're…" Matt trailed off.

"Straight."

They stared at me in varying degrees of shock, anger and sadness. After a long silence, Jade pulled me into a soft hug. I gripped her tight.

"When do you leave?" she said.

"In a month."

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><p>A month later, I'm sat in the driver seat of my car, following behind Dad's, with the removal van in close pursuit. I glance at my twelve year old sister Saffron, who gazes out the window, her long, dark curly hair blows in the breeze from the air conditioning. She hasn't spoken the entire journey from New Jersey. I can't blame her. I don't feel much like talking either.<p>

We turn into a suburban street, and I notice the road name is the same one hastily scribbled onto the back of Dad's business card that sits on my dash. The one he gave me in case we lost them at any time. I notice Dad pulls over and do too, and when parked, I look out my window at our new home.

"We're here,' I say to Saffron. She turns to peer out of my window too. We share a look and I know we are thinking the same thing.

_I want to go home._

Dad's already walking towards the removal van, so I unbuckle my seatbelt. "Come on Saff. The sooner we get this over with the sooner we can go to sleep."

She nods and climbs out of the passenger seat. I wanted to say more to her. Tell her I'm sorry we had to move – sorry she's left all her friends behind – sorry her shoe in as cheerleading captain was snatched away from her – sorry she has to start all over again at the bottom of the ladder she'd so carefully made her way up. She was all set to rule middle school. Once she was of age I knew she would have ruled my lemming filled high school. She's just strong like that and often said wished she was older so she could be the queen bitch and force everyone to be nice to me.

She's always been ambitious.

Dad passes box after box out to me and I help the movers bring them into the house. Mom spends most of the time unpacking stuff inside. Dad warns Saffron who appears to be walking on auto pilot and isn't taking notice of her movements to be careful on the road, but no cars travel up or down the street until 3.30pm, when a black navigator pulls into the driveway of the house next door.

As Dad shuffles around in the van for another box to offload into my arms, I watch as the lights switch off and a lean boy with styled light brown hair, dressed immaculately in tight jeans, knee length black boots and a tailored black trench coat moves gracefully out of the driver side and pushes the door shut with slender fingers. He turns a curious eye to the removal van and I shift my gaze back to Dad who I realize with a start is holding a box out to me. I take it and turn back towards the car. The boy has gone.

About 5.00pm cars start returning to the houses in our new street, including a red van that parks next to the black navigator. I'm reading the side of the van; 'Hummels Tyres and Lube' when a middle aged man, wearing a lumberjack jacket and a cap steps out of the vehicle and immediately makes a beeline for the removal van we have almost emptied.

"Burt Hummel" he announces, holding his hand out to my dad who takes it with a firm grip and smile.

"John Anderson," he responds. "This is my wife, Maggie, my daughter Saffron and my son Blaine." He gestures to all four of us.

Burt Hummel nods to each of us. "Need a hand?"

"No thanks, we've almost got it," Dad taps the side of the removal van as if in demonstration.

"Well alright then. Where do you guys hail from?" Burt says conversationally.

"New Jersey."

"Ah, well if you need any help my son and I are just inside, and my stepson shouldn't be long," he offers, nodding back at his house. He looks me up and down. "I'm willing to bet my sons about the same age as you …?"

"Blaine," I remind him shaking his hand.

"We'll see if I can get him to come over and say hi. Never hurts to make a friend the first day in a new place, huh?"

I don't really know what to say so I shrug and give him as charming a smile as I can muster. He nods to each of us once more and walks back to his house.

It takes another hour to finish unloading the removal van and I immediately excuse myself and head up to my room, flopping down on my just reassembled but unmade bed. I can't be bothered to make my bed tonight so I get up and lay out my quilt over the mattress, fish my pajamas out of my suitcase and head to the en-suite bathroom. I take a shower, thankful Dad had turned the water and heating on and brush my teeth before I change into them, and when I return I find that Mom has been in and put the sheets on my mattress, quilt and pillows and she's opened my bedroom window. I feel a rush of affection towards her and immediately turn my light out and dive into bed.

I check my watch. 8.00pm. I never sleep this early, but I'm so tired. My bedroom is situated at the side of the house, and with my curtains not yet up, the light from one of the side bedrooms next door streams into my own, creating odd shadows among the boxes that loom around the unfamiliar room.

I sigh and close my eyes; will myself to drift off.

And that is when I first hear it. The voice. At first it is soft melodious and soothing, more like a hum than anything, and for a moment I think I'm imagining it, but then it grows a little clearer and I hear the words;

**'A tiger in a cage can never see the sun,**  
><strong>this diva needs her stage, baby lets have fun.<strong>

**You are the one I choose; folks would kill to fill your shoes,**

**you love the lime light too now baby.'**

I lift out of bed in curiosity and walk over to the window in search of the voice. I immediately spot the source. The boy I had seen climb out of his black navigator; Burt Hummel's son, is in the middle of his room in clear view of the window, dancing around with a comb raised to his lips. My mouth opens in awe. I've never heard a voice as high and beautiful, come from a boy before; at least not one above the age of thirteen and certainly not in person. I'm almost jealous. I love to sing, and I recognize the song immediately. Rent is one of my favorite musicals. I could never pull off that song though. Not with my lower tenor voice.

**"Take me for what I am, who I was meant to be,**  
><strong>and if you give a damn, take me baby or leave me."<strong>

And yet here this boy is belting the song out with ease, eyes closed, dancing around his room with grace and poise. Another thing I don't have. I can't dance. Not that I've ever tried. It was one thing being gay in my old school; another thing entirely pursuing activities that proved it beyond reason to the narrow minded Neanderthals who taunted me in the hallways. No, it's better to steer clear of that. Especially now no one knows. A clean slate, as Dad said.

I find myself wondering if this boy only dances in his room or if he can do what I can't and show it to the world without fear. I like to think he can.

I watch him belt out the rest of the song, without a care on his face. And then it ends. And his eyelids have lifted. And he's peering out the window and into my dark one. I freeze, transfixed by the grey eyes (Or are they blue?); wonder if he can see me. Praying he can't. Hoping he can. His eyes scan the window but never quite meet my eyes ... and then he's closed the window and pulled the curtains. I exhale a breath I didn't know I'd been holding and rest my elbows on the window sill in thought. His voice still echo's in my head, the words teasing my reinvigorated mind;

'_Take me for what I am, who I was meant to be.'_ He sings in my head.

I sigh and return to bed. Fat chance of that happening.

**I less than 3 reviews. Tis true :)**


	2. First Day

**A/N: Well hello there. I can't thank you guys enough for the reviews, favourites and alerts this story has received so far. I was shocked when I logged into my email and found so many notifications. So I decided to give you chapter two earlier than I'd initially planned. Its also longer.**

**The introduction of more Glee characters in this one as Blaine enters McKinley. There's a lot of interaction between Blaine and his little sister as well :) Anyway I'll shut up now and let you read. Enjoy!**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing except Saffron, Matt and Jade. The rest belong to Fox and Ryan Murphy. If I could I would own Kurt Hummel and buy him all the designer clothes his lovely heart desired.**

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><p><strong>Chapter Two – First Day<strong>

Operation: pretend I'm straight, begins this morning.

I'm already a little nervous as I dress for the day. I've spent so long in a school where everyone knows my sexuality, that I can't remember what it's like to be otherwise.

The boy next door has already opened his curtains when I peer out of my window. I squint into the daylight filled room, and not for the first time scold myself for doing so. It's creepy. And yet my eyes try to focus past the reflection of the withering foliage of Ohio. My view is obscured and I drag my eyes back into my room and cringe at myself. He didn't come over to say Hi like his dad said he might, and if he catches me trying to look into his room like some pervert he probably never will. Straight boys don't watch other guys in their bedrooms from afar, I remind myself.

I push it to the back of my mind and get ready for my first day at my new school. Mckinley High, I think Dad said.

"Remember you're dropping your sister off too," Dad says from the kitchen table as I enter. No hello as usual.

I pop two slices of bread into the newly unpacked toaster and roll my eyes to myself. "I know."

"Make sure you walk her to the principal's office. The last thing we need is her getting lost and being late on her first day."

"Mhmm."

"Dad, I'm not a baby," Saffron says from next to him. "I can find my own way to the office." I lean against the kitchen counter and study her face. Her delicate skin is swollen around her beautiful hazel eyes and my insides squirm in a familiar motion of guilt.

Dad ignores her. "Remember what we talked about, Blaine. Keep your head down and try not to … you know …"

My fingernails dig into my palm as he struggles to finish the sentence.

"…try not to draw attention to yourself." Dad settles on.

I grind my teeth together and nod, turning to tend to my toast that pops up.

"You two should probably get going. You need to leave time to get from your sisters school to yours." Dad lifts his newspaper over his face.

I don't answer, to busy stuffing my first piece of toast in my mouth only to hold the second between my teeth to free up my hands. "Come on Saff," I mumble through the toast and pick up my school bag. She stalks passed me.

"Bye Saffron," Dad calls. She slams the front door in response, with me on the wrong side of it. I sigh and open the door again.

The black navigator is already gone I note as I pull out of my driveway. It occurs to me I don't know what school he goes to. It would be nice to sort of, but not really, know someone before I go, even if it is just by sight.

"You mad at me or Dad?" I ask Saffron when we are halfway to her school.

"Dad," she says and turns a curious eye on me. "Why?"

"Well, you kind of haven't said two words to me since we left New Jersey and … you slammed the door in my face."

She bites her lip. "Sorry, I didn't mean to … I was just making a point to _him_ that I haven't forgiven _him_."

I grip the steering wheel tightly. "But … you've forgiven me?" I'm avoiding looking at her so I don't catch the bewildered stare she settles on me.

"Why do I need to forgive you?"

"We wouldn't have moved if it wasn't for me being…"

"Shut up, Blaine."

My head snaps to her in indignation.

"I mean it," she gives me a hard look, eyebrows raised in defiance. "I don't care what some people think. You are awesome, and it's not your fault the assholes in our old town couldn't see that. It's not your fault Dad couldn't take it and ran us out of the state. So shut up blaming yourself. All you did was like kissing guys. I don't blame you. Guys are hot."

I snort and try to hide my smile as I scold her. "Don't swear. It's not ladylike."

"Not Blaine-like either. I actually can't remember the last time I heard you cuss."

"I wish I could say the same about you."

She rolls her eyes. "I like having a gay brother. I can talk to you about guys."

"Okay, I'm not sure I want to have that kind of conversation with you." I shudder theatrically. "You're twelve."

She pokes her tongue out and turns back to her window. We're silent for a few minutes.

"That guy next door is cute." Her tone is conversational but I know her well enough to hear the slight inflection of tease.

"Ask him out then," I say, trying to keep my voice even.

"Nah, I'm pretty sure he's too old for me. I mean he looks kind of young, but judging by his height, I'm guessing he's at least sixteen. Plus I saw him leave this morning from my window. His jeans are really tight." She smirks at me.

"So?"

"Like, really REALLY tight, big bro."

I chuckle to myself. "Not all tight jean wearers are gay, Saff."

"_Imma get your heart racing in my skin tight jeans, be your teenage dream tonight_," she sings.

"We're here." I park up near the front of Saffron's new middle school happy to get off the subject. I ruffle her curly hair affectionately. "OK, so I know Dad told me to walk you to the Principle, but there's a sign saying where it is. You don't need me right?"

"I got this," she says, her confident mask already in place, but I can see the slight edge, the grit of her teeth. She's nervous, but only years of observation have taught me the signs. She winks and hops out of the passenger side. "Let me know if Skin-Tight-Jeans goes to your school." She slams the door shut before I can splutter a comeback.

I wait until she's safely inside the building before I make the five minute drive to Mckinley. There are very few parking spots left to choose from in the lot, and I end up as far away from the entrance as I can get. I make it to the Principal's office just as the bell signals the start of homeroom.

"Mr. Anderson, you're late," Principal Figgins says as I sit down opposite him in his office.

"Sorry Sir, I had to take my little sister to her school. It's her first day to."

"Don't let it happen again," he carries on in a bored tone. He doesn't look up once, reading my transcript. "So you're from New Jersey."

"Yes sir. My dad got a job here so …" _We ran away_, I finished silently.

There's a knock at the door and a tall blonde girl with her hair up in a tight ponytail enters. She wears a red cheerleading uniform - the word _Cheerios_ emblazoned on the front. She hands Principal Figgins a note.

"Coach Sylvester asked me to give you this. I was supposed to give it to you yesterday but the elf that hibernates in my locker stole it. I only just got it back after I promised it a cookie."

I look between the girl and Principal Figgins unsure of whether I'm supposed to laugh or not, although the chuckle bubbles up none the less. I cough it back, not wanting to appear rude. The Principal doesn't even react, his eyes scanning the note.

"Your Cheerios budget doesn't cover tanning, Sue," Principal Figgins grumbled, crunching up the note and tossing it in the trash can near the door.

The cheerleaders vacant gaze lands on me. "Hi."

"Hello," I say.

"Miss Pierce, take Mr. Anderson to his new Homeroom." He hands her some paper I assume has the room number on it, and me a stack of pages with my new timetable sat on top.

"Stay out of trouble, and welcome to Mckinley, Mr. Anderson."

"Thank you, sir." I rise from my seat and offer my hand out of habit to the Principal but he isn't looking at me. I hastily lower it and follow the blonde girl as she skips out the door, ponytail swinging behind her. We're halfway down the first hall when she speaks.

"So, are you new?"

"Yeah, that's why I don't know where my Homeroom is," I say conversationally.

"Oh. I thought that maybe you'd forgot where it is. I do that sometimes."

Right … I follow her, the rest of the way in silence and we arrive outside the room just as the bell goes for first period.

"Well, here you are. It was nice meeting you new boy. FYI if you ever want to tap this let me know." She walks off and I'm left gawping after her. Well that's a new one. I smile to myself as she meets up with a dark haired cheerleader by a locker and they walk down the corridor with linked pinkies.

Operation: pretend I'm straight is on track so far.

It's too late for homeroom so I look down at my timetable to see what my first class is. That is until my stack of papers is shoved out of my hands by something – excuse me – _someone_ large in a red McKinley jacket.

"Watch it hobbit!" The boy slaps fives with another guy in the same jacket. Well it would appear I've identified McKinley's resident King Douche.

I'm bent down to scoop up my scattered papers when two slender and pale hands start helping me, piling them up neatly with practiced ease. My eyes travel up slim arms and I'm looking at the top of a head of well groomed light brown hair. The boy stands and I look up from my position on the floor to see it's the owner of the black navigator next door, holding my papers out to me.

It's the first time I've seen him up close and I find myself fascinated by the porcelain white of his skin, made more so against the dreary back drop, the yellow walls and the red lockers. He's taller than me by a few inches, and his full lips are downturned, his azul eyes solemn, but there's a twinkle of something there. I pinpoint it as understanding. Of what, though?

"Thanks," I say and rise to my feet to take the pile from him.

He tilts his head. "Watch out for Karofsky. He likes fresh meat to pick on. You fit the bill."

I nod shyly. His voice is breathy and higher than most guys over sixteen, and I remember the beautiful tone to his singing – the same but so different. When he sang last night his vocal was powerful, but now he is softly spoken, like he wants you to have to lean in to hear him at all. I'm more than a little intrigued.

I realize I haven't responded and shake my head to clear it of melodious renditions of Rent.

"Noted," I say. I still don't know where my first class is and riffle through the pile trying to find my timetable again. The boy plucks the sheet from me and scans it. He winces.

"Ouch, you've got Calculus first period. You're in luck though. You've got French second period with me. Come on, I'll walk you to your first class. If English doesn't wear me out with Shakespearean men delving into madness and poetry before their ironic deaths, I might come get you after and walk you to second period."

I'm slightly taken aback by this. Not even Matt and Jade were this friendly to me when we entered middle school, back before I realized I was gay. Way before the school realized.

"Thanks," I say in relief. I follow him down the emptying hallway. "My name is Blaine." I hold my hand out.

He eyes it for a moment and grasps it with his own smaller hand. "Kurt. You just moved in next door to me, right?"

I peer up at him in surprise. I thought he hadn't seen me. "Um, yeah. I met your dad yesterday."

"I know. He told me to come by and say hi, but I had homework."

"Right." I smirk at the memory of him singing his heart out and dancing around his bedroom. His homework sounds fun.

"What are you smiling at?" Kurt arches a superior eyebrow at me, and I duck my head to hide the guilty heat sneaking up to my cheeks.

"Nothing."

My lowered gaze lingers over Kurt's hip and travels down his legs and – holy crap those jeans _are_ tight. An image of Saffron nodding smugly at me with raised suggestive eyebrows catches me off guard and I snort and cover my mouth.

Kurt stops walking and turns a confused glare on me. "OK, answer me this - are you laughing at me, or is that a nervous tick? Cos I don't waste my time on closed minded Neanderthals who take one look at me and decide there and then, I'm a joke."

I sober immediately, surprised by this sudden swing in direction. "What? No! I just … thought of something my sister said this morning about y – no one in particular – and it was funny…"

Kurt looks me over with shrewd piercing eyes, lips pursed, and I feel exposed, like I'm being x-rayed on the spot. The cloud of confused suspicion clears but is replaced with an unreadable expression partnered with a long necked cock of the head.

"Fine."

He spins on his heel and carries on walking. I follow from a few spaces behind until he stops at a door.

"Here you go," Kurt says, gesturing inside the classroom.

I open my mouth to thank him but he cuts over me, "I'll see you in French," and stalks off, back ramrod straight, head held high.

I watch him go in complete bewilderment. I replay our entire conversation in my head as I hand my transfer note to the teacher and sit down for calculus in the only vacant seat, elbows resting on the desk. I feel as though I might have just made a friend and lost one in the space of two minutes. And I have no idea how.

He doesn't come collect me for French. He doesn't look at me in French when I find it. In fact he's one of the first to leave when the bell goes. It's like our exchange never happened. And I wonder on more than one occasion if it wasn't just some hallucination.

I spot him on the way to Lunch and he is stood with a smiling black girl by a set of lockers. I consider apologizing to him, but to be honest, I'm not entirely sure what I did.

_Drama Queen_, I think darkly.

No wait, that's not fair, I reason. I hate it when people make assumptions about me. I'll be the bigger person here and not assume he's a volatile little … something really bad. I walk by as Kurt leans his head against a locker and looks down at his friend with a fond smile and I catch her eye. She seems curious, and a comprehending nod in my direction is evidence to suggest he might have mentioned me. Great, it's already spreading around that I'm an accidental douche.

I meander through the halls to the cafeteria and vow to stop thinking about it, which is easier said than done, when the object of my irritation is sat across the cafeteria from me, perfect posture, stabbing moodily at a salad while a short girl with dark hair and a questionable cat sweater talks his ear off.

In fact the only time I'm not thinking about it is when a distraction comes in the form of the cheerleader with one heck of an imagination and her Latina friend, who walk up to my deserted table at Lunch, the dark haired settling in my lap before I can move.

"Hey there hot stuff. Brit says you're new. Santana," she introduces. She flicks her right leg over her left one, and even _I'm_ fascinated by how this practiced move rides her red skirt up her thighs. It's clever. She seems pleased with my wide eyed response.

"H-Hi?" I say.

Santana leers down at me and wraps her arms around my neck. "We got ourselves a shy one, Brit."

"Try standing on one leg and hopping in a circle."

I raise a triangular eyebrow at the blonde one. "What?"

"This is Brittany. Listen Hobbit, Brits and I have a pretty perfect record in this school, and we want to keep it that way, so if you wants' to get on this," she flips her hair back, "let us know."

"You'd totally be doing us a favor," Brittany added.

"Oh, yeah erm … thanks?"

Do – Not – Gulp.

I've just discovered it's difficult to not look frightened by a horny girl when A) said horny girl is sat on your lap looking at you, with a feline curiosity and a puckered mouth that can't seem to choose whether it should attack your face or not, and B) no horny girl has ever so much as looked your way or considered you a viable option until this moment.

Unless you count that time Jade and Matt had a big fight. She came over to my house and jumped me. But even then it was half hearted and she was easy to talk sense into.

I'm not sure I see what other boys like in this kind of situation.

"I uh, I need to go … now." I peel her off me and hurry from the cafeteria, only looking up to see Kurt watching me from near the door with undisguised disgust.

I take it back. Screw being the bigger person. He's a judgmental bitch.

* * *

><p>By the end of the day I'm exhausted from new classes, homework, being attacked by two cheerleaders and ignored in general by the vast majority of the student population. I collapse into my car just as my phone vibrates.<p>

_Hey B, How's Ohio? Made any friends yet? Jade x_

I drag my hand through my messy curls and type back;

_Hey JJ. It's OK I guess. And No, I haven't. How's hell? B x_

I'm waiting for Saffron in the parking lot when I receive another text.

_Damn. Aren't they friendly? The same as always. You're famous. Jade x_

I ignore the last part. Are they friendly?

_For the most part. Too early to judge, B._

I place my phone back in my bag and lean my head back against the head rest tiredly, and before long Saffron climbs into the passenger seat, her bag dumped in the back.

"I fucking hate Ohio!" she says folding her arms across her chest.

"Language," I scold. "What happened?" I lean my arm against the steering wheel and hook her dark curls behind her ear.

"Head cheerleaders a bitch, that's what."

"LAN-GUAGE!" I say sharply. "And put your seat belt on."

She grimaces sheepishly and secures her belt. "Sor-ry. I just had a crappy day."

I roll my eyes up to my head, but let that word slide. "So it's not so much you hate Ohio, just the cheerleader," I deduce. "Wanna talk about it?"

"Not really. I can take her." She smirks and I almost pity Miss-head-cheerleader. Almost. Saffron's always been the stronger of the two of us. If anyone can take a bad situation and turn it in her own favor, it's my sister.

"So, how was your day?" Saffron asks when we are halfway home.

"It was OK. I got accosted by a dappy cheerleader and her friend."

"Figures." Saffron smirked "Good looking guy like you. What did they say when you told them you're gay? I'd love to have seen their faces."

I grip the steering wheel tighter and focus on a truck weaving past a parked car onto my side of the road. I forgot she never heard the conversation between me and Dad.

"Blaine? You did tell them, right?"

"Define, tell?"

She doesn't clarify. I can feel her scrutinizing glare on me. I wait. She's smart. She'll work it out in a minute. And then…

"That son of a bitch!"

"Oh for f- the love of god!" I catch myself and pull over so I can glare at her. "STOP SWEARING! You're twelve."

"You're nearly seventeen! _Start_ swearing!" she counters and drag's her gaze away to stare at my dash like it'll burst into flames if she does so hard enough. I leave her for a few minutes to cool off her volatile temper. When she peers up at me, her eyes are softer, eyebrows knitted together.

"That's what he meant this morning, isn't it?"

I cock my head to the side in question.

"When he told you not to draw attention to yourself," she clarifies. She waits for me to confirm, but I don't. She drops her voice, like what she's about to say is unspeakable. "He wants you to pretend, doesn't he?"

My throat is thick. Why does she have to be so damn smart? I nod, not trusting my voice. She leans her head back against the head rest.

"And you're going to do it?" I don't expect the soft tone. I expected her to yell at me. She doesn't.

"It's better this way." I say my throat hoarse. "Less likely I'll be bullied."

She doesn't look convinced. "Urgh this sucks!" She lifts her legs up so she's sat awkwardly in the fetal position. "OK, promise me something."

I frown, and nod for her to continue.

"Don't do it for Dad. Please. It's your life and he's an ass. If you're going to hide it, do it because you want to. Not because he wants you to."

I chew the inside of my mouth in irritation that she'd assume I'm doing it for Dad. I smile weakly at her. "Sure thing, Saff."

She watches me with a critical eye for a few moments and leans back, satisfied. "So, does Skin-Tight-Jeans go to your school?" Her tone is teasing.

My stomach squirms and I shove her shoulder lightly. "Shut up."

She grins, but lets it go as I put the car into drive again. We stay in a comfortable silence the rest of the journey.

* * *

><p>I hear him singing again that night as I do my homework on my newly reassembled desk; although it's decidedly less Broadway this time.<p>

"_Can't read my, can't read my,_

_No he can't read my poker face,_

_(She's got to love nobody)"_

I smile to myself. Even if I am kind of mad at him, he does sing Gaga well.

When my homework is done for the night he is still singing. Curiosity gets the better of me. Lamp off, I make my way cautiously to the window and lower myself onto a chair beside it, protected from sight by darkness. He's sat at a vanity, rubbing something into his face and neck; the continuous melody switches from a gentle rendition of _Spoon Full of Sugar_, to _Feed the Birds_ from Mary Poppins.

Visions of me curled up on the couch with Mom watching the movie, a young Saffron balancing on her knee pop into my head and I smile wistfully at the simpler days we'd shared.

Much later when Kurt has closed his curtains, his voice still drifts into the room through his open window. It's like he's a human ipod. And I listen from my cocoon under the covers;

"_Somewhere over the rainbow,_

_Way up high,  
>in the land,<br>that I heard of once,  
>in a lullaby."<em>

It's soothing as I lay deep in contemplation. Saffron's words cross my mind more than once. She doesn't understand the full situation though. Only sees from her perspective. And yes I resent my Dad, but I feel like his way probably is easier. If today is anything to go by I can pass for straight. If I just keep my head down, maybe just maybe I can keep under the radar. At least until I've worked out just how homophobic this school is. If they are accepting.

If. For a word so small it sure has a lot riding on it.

I huff out a breath and turn over onto my stomach, bunching the pillow up. My mind drifts to the oddest part of my day. It isn't that cheerleader, Brittany and the random things she says, or the very forward … Santana, I think her name was? The jock who targeted me upon first contact was nothing new, and it definitely isn't the silent treatment from Skin-Tight-Jeans – Oh great, Saffs got that one into my head too – I'm more than used to the cold shoulder from complete strangers. No, it's the fact that in this instance, with this one person who I have spoken to for ten seconds, and observed from afar, I care about his opinion of me.

_If happy little bluebirds fly  
>above the rainbow, why<br>Oh, why can't I?_

Huh, well that's new.

* * *

><p><strong>You can drop me a review if you like :)<strong>

**Songs are Poker Face by Lady Gaga and Somewhere over the Rainbow by Judy Garland and several other artists since.**


	3. Confrontation

**A/N: Hello! Thanks again for all the lovely reviews, favourites and Alerts. You guys are awesome. A couple of little notes: **

**A reviewer asked me what the significance of Saffrons name is because it is unusual, so i thought I'd relay my answer to everyone in case your interested. Saffron is a spice; one of the most expensive spices in the world and is said to have been worth 'Its Weight in Gold' since ancient times. She's the golden child in the Anderson household. I'm glad reviewers seem to like her. **

**Also I'd like to assure you guys this is very much a Klaine story. I realise there was a lot of Saffron in chapter two but she wont take over. She is revelant because a) Blaine didn't know anyone so she was someone to talk to. b) it was a way to bring up Kurt in conversation before he'd actually spoken to him. c) I wanted to delve a little deeper into the issue of him pretending he's straight and getting a second opinion. d) she added a little comedy into his so far quite serious family :)**

**I shall be delving into the klaine now the scene has more or less been set. **

**I'll let you guys read the chapter before I add notes about it :)**

**Enjoy!**

**Disclaimer: I am sad to inform you I don't own Glee. Maybe some day. Until then I'll sit back and let Fox and Ryan Murphy have it**

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Three - Confrontation<strong>

With the first day over with, the week drifts by in a blur of homework, dodging guys in red McKinley jackets, ignoring my neighbor who seems hell bent on pretending I don't exist, and jumping into the boy's bathroom every time I see Santana.

It turns out when Santana says; _"If you wants' to get on this, let me know."_

What she's really saying is; _"You _will_ want this."_ And then goes out of her way to give you every opportunity to act on it.

If I was like every other guy in the school I'm sure I would have. She's beautiful, but the truth is I'm _not_ every other guy.

It's not that I don't think she's … okay, although she did tell me to stop staring at her boobs on the first Wednesday, when she'd spent the entire previous day giving me graphic details of what I can do to them, (the irony being, I was actually looking at her feet in a bid to not catch her eye) so she can't exactly talk.

The truth is she scares me. I think she's one of those people who won't stop until she has what she wants. And I'm not sure I want to find out what those wants entail or if I can even give them to her. It doesn't sit right with me leading a girl on like that. There must be a way of being 'straight' and not acting on it. Plus, she isn't the most discreet person on the planet.

A memorable moment to note was on Thursday. I was finding my copy of To Kill a Mockingbird for English when she slammed my locker shut and launched herself on my lips.

It was a bizarre first. I hadn't ever kissed anyone before, boy or girl, and despite my lack of experience, I think anything would have been preferable to the way she forced her tongue through my teeth like a lizard seeking out a particular delectable fly. I ripped my mouth away from hers in shock and blurted the first thing that popped into my head.

"I've gotta pee."

She un-puckered her lips and wrinkled her nose. "Ew," she said. She released my jacket long enough for me to bolt down the corridor and into the nearest toilets … and hastily exit with a flurry of apologies to the swarm of shrieking girls warding me out with cans of hairspray.

Mental note: Don't walk into the girls toilets unless you want to lose your sight.

Or your name is Kurt Hummel, for not even a minute after my retreat back into the corridor; he floated past where I stood rubbing my eyes, pointedly ignored me and entered the girls' toilets. He wasn't fumigated out. On the contrary I spotted an Asian girl pass a can _to_ him before the door closed.

There must a way to evade Santana's advances that isn't hazardous to my health.

* * *

><p>I'm on my way to Chemistry the Tuesday of my second week when a hand grabs my arm before I can enter the west corridor. A memory of Peter Lance shoving me into a locker attacks my mind and I squeeze my eyes shut immediately and wait for impact. Nothing happens. Instead the hand gently lets go of my arm and my confusion overpowers my fear. I open one eye to be met, not with a jock with a raised fist, but concerned brown eyes surrounded by dark smooth skin, and a sheepish smile. I place her in my mind as Kurt's friend.<p>

"Damn boy, Santana works fast, if you're already that resigned to her advances."

I look around me in search of the person she's talking to. Lots of students bustle passed us but none are stood nearby. "Are you talking to me?"

"No I'm talking to the fountain," she deadpans. "Yes I'm talking to you, and if you want to get to Chemistry without Santana attacking, you might wanna follow me."

She grabs my arm again and I allow myself to be lead in the opposite direction. I vaguely recall her sitting in the back of my Chemistry lab last week now I think about it.

"I'm Blaine," I say, more to break the silence than anything.

"I know. I'm Mercedes."

It doesn't strike me as odd she already knows my name. This school surprises me less and less each day.

"Not that I don't appreciate this, - thank you by the way - but uh … why are you helping me?"

"Santana was talking in Glee club yesterday about how she plans to lock you in a cubicle with her in the girl's bathroom. She's not used to people saying no to her." Her voice is filled with laughter in the next sentence. "You look pretty horrified by her most of the time and, I figured you might not be into that."

I blush. I didn't realize my discomfort was that noticeable to passersby. That still didn't answer the question, why she was helping though.

"Thanks, you didn't have to go to any trouble."

She purses her lips and cocks her head to the side as we walk. "Damn you _are_ polite."

What? I raise an eyebrow in question. "Who says that?"

"Everybody."

I hunch my shoulders over self consciously and look at my feet. "Oh sorry."

She laughs out loud. "That's not an insult, Curly. You might wanna insert your backbone though if you want to survive in this school. Polite doesn't get you anything but a slushie in the face around here." We've arrived at our classroom. She pauses just inside the door.

I offer her a small smile. "Thanks," I say before I can stop myself, and curse under my breath.

She shakes her head at me, in an almost fond movement and puts her hands on her hips. "While I've got your attention though, imma give you some advice. Polite or not, if you laugh at my boy and make him feel like a joke again, I will cut you."

Ah, there's the ulterior motive. That seemed less like advice and more a threat. I open and close my mouth like the hinge is loose, and try to make it explain, but she puts her finger up at me in warning.

"I don't want to hear it. Now I'm willing to believe you didn't do anything intentionally, but you better give that boy an explanation because I know where you live. He gets enough crap, and it pains me to say this, but I think white boy needs someone like you around. Do we understand each other?"

I nod soundlessly.

The hard look is replaced with a toothy beam. "Remember, Santana's locker is in the west corridor, so avoid it if you can. She's got English with me last period so I'll try and distract her. What's your next class?"

"French."

"Perfect. You can talk to Kurt."

She walks away to her seat at the back, and I sit down at mine. I'm not convinced she didn't know _exactly_ what my next class is already. Before I can dwell on it our teacher strolls in and demands we join our lab partners. As a late comer to the school year and the odd number of students in the class, I'm left to do the experiment on my own. Thankfully my last school had already covered it so I'm finished half an hour before anyone else allowing me time to think about my exchange with Mercedes.

So, apparently Kurt's still bothered by the events of my first day. Hurt seems to be a more accurate description. Now how do you approach someone who avoids you like you carry around a nasty smell and explain yourself?

I'm doodling in my notebook with five minutes until last period when something she said floats into the forefront of my mind and demands I pay attention to it.

'…_white boy needs someone like you around …'_

My head snaps up. What did she mean by that? What's so special about me?

I try to ignore the insistent niggle in the back of my head that thinks it knows _exactly_ what she's talking about. She couldn't possibly know that. I've been so careful. I never look at any of the boys in this school for longer than necessary - I keep my head down in the locker room and away from the other guys as they change. I've got Santana and to a certain extent Brittney pursuing me. Yes I do run from them sometimes which might cause suspicion, but who wouldn't run from Santana? She's relentless. And besides I don't know if he is even … and even if he is, that doesn't mean he'd want me around. Unless he thinks I am too. Is he? Maybe I'm the only gay guy in existence without gaydar.

Stop jumping to conclusions. She probably didn't mean that at all.

Entering French class and spotting Kurt straight away, when in the middle of an internal meltdown about him isn't the greatest mind set to be in when I need to have an awkward conversation with him. I turn away from him. I feel like if I catch his eye or so much as look in his direction, he'll read my mind. I stare dead ahead and for the first time in a week I feel his eyes on me.

I don't look.

Tomorrow. I'll talk to him tomorrow. I'll have a whole night to work out what I'm going to say to him. I rush out of French on the bell and into the boy's bathroom in a bid to avoid him. Mercedes didn't say whether he was staying after school or not, but I'd rather wait until he's either at whatever meeting, or on his way home so I can avoid him.

I spend a hell of a lot of time in here, I muse, scanning the graffiti up the cubicle wall.

When the bustle of students has died down outside the door, I gingerly leave the bathroom.

I regret the decision almost immediately. Kurt is halfway down the corridor. And he's not alone. His back is against a set of lockers and Dave Karofsky looms over him, his hands scrunched in the lapels of Kurt's jacket.

"I thought I told you to stay out of my way Hummel."

"No one else is here, Dave, there's a whole lot of space for you to avoid and walk _around _me."

"Stay – out – of – my – way. That means out of my sight too. I don't want my eyes infected by you … your homo clothes and … girly sweaters."

"Fashion has no gender. Of course you wouldn't know that seeing as you clearly buy all your clothes from the sale rack at Target."

"Don't get smart with me or I'll…"

"You'll what? Hit me? Fine, do it. It won't make a difference. I'll still be who I am no matter how many times you do it!"

"Shut up Hummel."

"Do you feel macho picking on somewhere half your size? Yeah you're real brave Karofsky."

"Don't push me!"

I don't know what makes me do it. I've never stood up to a bully before in my life. Not even Peter Lance - Especially not Peter Lance. Before I know what is happening my feet have taken me alongside Karofsky. He doesn't notice I'm there until I shove all my weight into his and separate him from Kurt to situate myself between them.

"Back off!" I say, and it's a tone of voice I don't recognize coming from me. It's deeper, almost like a low growl, and I'd probably be scared of hearing it if I wasn't so damn angry.

Karofsky stares. His eyes flash with a mix of cold bewilderment at this turn of events. I glare up at him and try to ignore the annoying little voice in my brain that's asks me what the hell I'm doing. I'm the shortest of the three of us, and the newest. If we were in the wild I'd be the baby antelope; the baby antelope that has put itself between a bigger antelope and a lion.

Karofsky lets out a loud howl of laughter and doubles over. It doesn't escape my notice that even bent low in a fit of laughter, he is bigger than me.

"Are you serious, Hobbit? I wouldn't have to lift a finger to get rid of you."

I'm coming to a similar realization as I stand here, and the only thing that keeps my legs from either buckling or running is the anger fueled adrenaline coursing through me right now. Or maybe it's the panic. A mixture of the two I imagine.

"I – I don't care. Leave him alone," I say. I'm relieved my voice is steady.

"Blaine," Kurt says softly in my ear. I wave him off.

Karofsky isn't laughing anymore. His narrowed eyes are cold and he advances forward a step. I square my shoulders. "I'm giving you ten seconds to walk away. This is between me and the Fairy, Hobbit."

"The Fairy?" I say. "That's original."

Kurt scoffs his agreement behind me and I feel a strange sense of companionship pass between us. He puts his hand on my shoulder. "Blaine, just go."

"No."

"Fine by me." Karofsky grabs me by the scruff of the neck and I'm hoisted with ease of the ground. All bravery falters. I squeeze my eyes shut and –

"Dave put that boy down now!"

A loud thump echoes off the metal lockers as I'm unceremoniously dropped. My legs don't support my weight as they touch the floor and I crumple into a heap. Kurt crouches beside me and his slim hands are under my armpits an attempt to hoist me back up.

A pair of shoes hurries into my vision and I look up at the concerned face of the Spanish teacher, Mr Schuester, I think his name is.

"Principal's office, Dave. Now! I'll see you there."

"I've got football practice!"

"I'll let Coach Beiste know why you're not there. And you should have thought of that before you attacked another student."

Karofsky shoves his hands in his pockets and stalks off in the general direction of the office and Mr Schuester turns to Kurt and me.

"You boys okay?"

"Fantastic," Kurt snaps, as he finally manages to drag me to my feet.

"It's Anderson, right?" Mr Schuester looks me up and down, as though trying to find further evidence of mistreatment.

"Blaine," I choke out.

"Well Blaine, Kurt, what was that all about?"

I look to Kurt whose eyes or on his cuticles like he is bored with this conversation already. "Nothing," he huffs out. "Nothing less than what is usual." He glares coldly at the teacher who shifts from foot to foot and drags his fingers through his gelled curls. I get the impression they've had a similar conversation before.

"Who did he attack first?"

"Me. Blaine was just in the wrong place at the wrong time."

I open my mouth to protest but his look of warning stops me. Tracing the scuff marks on my shoes I listen as Mr Schuester continues.

"I better go explain to Figgins what just happened. I was coming to find you Kurt to say Glee rehearsals cancelled for tonight. Some parents have complained about our putting on Rocky Horror and we can't rehearse until it's resolved."

"Fine," Kurt says.

"Are you going to be okay, Blaine?" Mr Schuester squeezes my shoulder.

"I'll be fine, thank you."

He nods once and walks away from us. When he is around the corner I slump against a locker and close my eyes. The heavy breath that escapes my lungs feels like it's been there for a long time, and I gulp air in deeply. I can't believe what just happened, that I actually put myself between Kurt and a hulking football player … and survived it.

"You didn't have to do that," Kurt says from my right. I peek through one eye at him. He's leant against the lockers too, staring at the identical layout of red lockers on the other side of the corridor.

"I know," I say.

"Thanks." He turns towards me and for the first time since that first day, he smiles at me. It's weak and doesn't reach his eyes. But it's a smile nonetheless.

"You're welcome." I slide down to the floor again next to my messenger bag and bang my head against the back of the locker behind me. Ouch. Better not do that again.

He sighs above me. "Well that was a wasted effort hoisting you up." He lowers himself daintily onto the ground beside me. We're quiet for a few minutes, and while I know there's this elephant in the room that needs to be resolved, and now would be the perfect time to do it, now when his attention is on me and he isn't actively avoiding me. But I can't get the words to leave my mouth.

And then a miracle happens.

"So it occurs to me that I may have over reacted a little bit last week," he says. "I mean, when I thought you were laughing at me."

My mouth drops open into the shape of an O, and remains a gaping hole of shock.

"And by that I mean, my best friend Mercedes looked at me like I was an idiot when I relayed the story," Kurt elaborates. "She told me she'll, quote, 'cut a bitch' if I don't apologize to the 'cutie with the hair.' Her wording, not mine," he added.

I pat my hair down self consciously. I really need to invest in some gel to tame it.

I frown at his words. Didn't she tell me to apologize to him? "Oh, it's really okay."

"No it's not." Kurt's eyes roll upwards and he folds his thin arms over his chest. "I'm so used to people laughing when I'm around that I always assume it's AT me and go on the defense. Normally I would have burned you with scathing sarcasm but, I didn't really have any ammo what with you being a shiny new person. So I settled with ignoring you. I'm sorry."

I'm so nonplussed by this turn of events that I almost forget to reply.

"It's fine. You could have taken my book bag and hung it on a flag pole or … put itching powder in my food. Ignoring is fine."

Head cocked to the side, Kurt eyes me with intrigue. "Why would I put itching powder in your food?"

"Oh, I…"

* * *

><p>"<em>Blaine, um, what are you doing?" <em>

_Jade and Matt stared at me in confusion, he with a burger half raised to his mouth, she resting her soda can on her cheek._

"_muffing," I said between my fingers that scratched my palette. "Itchy mouth." _

"_Honey, your kind of getting looks," Jade said._

_I stuffed my bagel into my mouth in an attempt to ease the itch in my throat, and that's when I noticed the table occupied by Peter Lance. I saw the vindictive smirk across his face, and the hand that waved an empty packet at me._

_I stopped chewing my bagel and swallowed hard. It did nothing to alleviate the itch. My empty plate of macaroni cheese mocked me from its place atop the table, and my stomach groaned somewhere below my navel. I coughed._

"_Blaine?"_

"_Is – itching … powder edible?" I spluttered out through my tickling throat._

"_No, I don't think it is. Why…?" Jade looks between my lunch and my hand that scratched my tongue; comprehension followed closely by fury._

"_Oh shit." Matt ducked his head. _

_Jade turned around and threw her empty soda can at the jocks surrounding Peter. "What is wrong with you, you asshole?"_

"_I don't feel well. I think I better go to the nurse's office." I said and bolted out of the cafeteria to uproarious laughter. _

* * *

><p>I scratch the back of my neck and shrug in the hopes he'll assume I've got an over active imagination rather than firsthand experience.<p>

He seems to drop the subject after a few moments of watching me flounder. "So, what were you laughing at? Out of curiosity."

I contemplate his unreadable expression and think he's going for feigned nonchalance, judging by the tilt of his head as he checks his cuticles again. Now there are many answers I could give to this question. I could lie and say my sister told me a joke which popped into my head at a moment's notice. I could pretend I saw something funny behind him. I could relay the blonde cheerleader's story about the elf stealing her note and claim I had a sudden vision of it rooting around other student's lockers. But I get the impression he'd know I'm lying anyhow. I can't remember what I said in defense that first day, but I do know it was probably closer to the truth than I realized at the time. Plus it's been a week at the school and I'm already sick of lying about who I am.

"Don't take this the wrong way okay?"

He drops his hand and folds his arms over his chest again. Now I've piqued his interest.

I take a deep breath. "That morning in the car, I was taking my little sister to school and she mentioned she saw the kid next door leave from her window." I shoot him a pointed look and he nods for me to continue, face skeptical. "She mentioned how uh, how tight your jeans were, and we kind of had this debate over whether she was exaggerating or not." … So that's an abbreviated less incriminating version but still the truth … ish.

"So when you spoke to me I noticed that she was kind of … right. I mean, that they were tight. Not too tight, although how you get circulation through your legs is beyond me. That's incredible you can walk. And today's jeans are another classic example of … how do you even get them on? I'm rambling aren't I? What I mean to say is, I uh … had this, this vision of my little sister … singing about skin tight jeans, which is kind of a weird image because she's twelve and as far as I'm concerned she shouldn't be looking at skin tight anything, you know? But it made me laugh. And then you got mad. And I'm sorry. I wasn't being mean I just … I was shocked she wasn't exaggerating I guess. She does that a lot. And … sorry."

I think I might have got some of the details wrong, but I can't think where as I wait for him to respond. Somewhere during my bout of verbal diarrhea my eyes had sunk to the floor. I lift them now.

"My jeans are pretty tight," he concedes and I sigh in relief. "Start over?" he holds his hand out to me. "Hi, I'm Kurt Hummel; I often jump to conclusions and snap at people before the brain engages."

I chuckle to myself and grasp his hand in a firm grip, enjoying the little thrill that shoots through my fingers and up my arm. "Blaine Anderson. I suffer from foot-in-mouth disease and a little sister."

"Tragic," he says dryly. He stands up, dusts himself off and holds his hand out to me. I take it. "Come on, I don't feel like staying at the scene of the crime."

I nod my agreement and we walk towards the exit in companionable silence. Our cars are two of the only ones left in the parking lot. I turn to say goodbye and he's smiling at me. This time it reaches his eyes.

"You can sit next to me in French next time if you want. I'll try not to bite." His tone is teasing but I know what he really means. He'll try not to jump down my throat.

"I better go. I've got to meet Mercedes at the Mall. Plus we have an audience so…" Kurt nods behind me, and I turn to see a group of guys in vibrant red McKinley jackets walking into the parking lot in a huddle from the direction of the gym locker room. I nod.

"I'm actually late picking up my sister so …" I give him an awkward wave before we part and get into our respective cars.

As I drive towards Saffron's middle school, my stomach feels lighter than it has all week. I can't believe how much tension that one incident and conversation has alleviated. Today I made a friend and this time didn't lose him in the space of five minutes. I break out into the biggest smile I have worn in a long time. Maybe Ohio would be okay after all.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Yay their back on good terms and Mercedes is meddling in her boys life. Naughty. Couple of little things.**

**You may have noticed that Blaine altered the thing that made him laugh in chapter 2 and caused the misunderstanding in his explanation to Kurt. This is because a) it happened a week ago, and I wouldn't be able to remember exactly what it was that gave me a giggle, and b) I can imagine Blaine would subconciously try to take away connotations that he might be attracted to Kurt, and if you remember he saw a vision of Saffron waggling her eyebrows suggestively when he looked Kurts jeans up and down. Singing some katy perry is a little safer.**

**I had itching powder put in my food when I was 11 at school. It itched like a bitch. Just in case any of you are skeptical. Not all itching powders will make you itch on the inside if you swallow it. It was unfortunate that mine did. But the vast majority will make you unwell after hence him bolting out of the cafeteria. I was very unwell for two days.**

**Karofsky clearly has no clue that Blaine is gay. Mercedes appears to suspect he is though which makes one wonder how she got so perceptive all of a sudden ...**

**I was going to have Sue find them in that situation because I'm not overly fussed on Mr Shu, but I can't seem to get her voice right. I'll try eventually because she will come up, but I'm still getting a feel for the canon characters and think I'll stick with the easier ones for now.**


	4. Getting to Know You

**A/N: I'm back with a new chapter. I feel guilty this is 2 days later than usual so I made it a bit longer. It's my longest chapter so far. The reasons its later is that life got busy over the weekend and I kept editing what I'd written. Thank you for all the lovely reviews and alerts etc. They are what keeps the muse going so I appreciate you a lot. This stories had over 2,000 hits already which I can't believe. **

**I'm a bit of a perfectionist so if you ever come back and re read a chapter and wording has changed slightly, its not you going mad, it's me always trying to better myself :)**

**You get some Hudmels in this chapter. I love me some Hudmel family. I've taken liberties with the timeline a little and Burt and Carol got married during the summer before they moved to the house they live in now. Notes on this chapter will come at the end. So ENJOY!**

**Disclaimer: I own Peter Lance, Saffron, Maggie and John Anderson, Matt and Jade. Everyone else is Fox and Ryan Murphys. Sigh.**

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Four<strong>

My least favorite period at school used to be the one I loved the most when I was little. Lunch; that thirty minute slot in your school routine when all you have to do is scoff food, laugh with your friends and maybe do some last minute homework if your behind. Best of all, you don't have to think. There was a drastic change in this opinion in middle school.

One day I was invisible to the majority, and happy to be so. I would find my usual table where Jade and Matt often were already sat and we'd talk about anything and everything, so long as it wasn't our ever increasing workload.

Then the next day I was very much visible to the majority … and unhappy to be so. Some people relish in attention. There are those celebrities who claim all news is good news even if it shows them in a bad light. I used to relish in it too once upon a time, if you'll believe that. I used to sing in talent contests a lot, audition for community theatre; I even had a brief stint singing in a theme park. I loved that kind of attention. It was like a rush of everything that was wonderful in the world. When I performed on a stage, the happy faces that stared up at me, from the audience were on my side were impressed by me, or maybe they weren't but they'd clap politely and I felt like I'd accomplished … something. I was the centre of attention for once, and everything was right.

The day after Peter Lance accused me of being gay and checking him out was the start of my hatred for attention. The original story was retold and edited from every direction until it was unrecognizable to the actual event. The whispers as I walked to our table made me feel like I was surrounded by a hostile swarm of wasps, all itching to sting me. The celebrities are wrong. All news is good news, _until_ it's bad. Until the majority hears something about you they _define_ as bad. And then that's all they can see. It didn't matter how many good things I'd done, whether I let that kid copy my homework ten minutes before it was due, or I opened a door for someone, the slate was wiped and all they could see was a kid who liked checking straight guys out in the locker room … who acted, on the impulse.

The cafeteria was unbearable from then on, and Matt suggested we sit out in the courtyard. I thought I was going to lose them too. I hadn't told them I was gay.

"_Blaine dude, you could be a slug and you'd still be my best friend," Matt had said._

I sat alone my first week at McKinley, I relished in the invisibility. It made a nice change from being glared at. But now I'm halfway through the second week, it turns out one of the perks of making friends with Kurt, is that I now have someone to sit with.

I'm not aware of this new development until Lunch comes on Wednesday. It doesn't occur to me that since Kurt and I are friends of sorts now, I would be allowed to sit with him and his friends. Not until I'm halfway to the table I'd somehow christened as my own the first week, and there's a shout of;

"Hey Curly, where you going?"

I turn to see Mercedes sat next to an Asian girl, at a table near the door, with Kurt on the other side. She waves me over, and I make my way gingerly, put my tray down on the table and sit in the seat by Kurt.

"If you don't like us you don't have to sweetie," Mercedes jokes, but I shake my head in earnest.

"No, no, uh, I didn't see you." The excuse is lame, I know. But they except it.

"This is Tina." Kurt points his bottle of water at the Asian girl.

"Hey." I hold my hand out to her. She eyes it for a moment in confusion.

"You – shake – it," Kurt says with a wry smile.

"Oh!" Tina's cheeks color and she shakes my hand. "Sorry, they did warn me you were kind of uh…"

"Dapper?" Mercedes supplied.

"I was going to say polite, but yeah I guess," she says.

"I'm getting this word thrown at me a lot," I muse.

Kurt pats my back in reassurance and I feel a jolt below my navel. "Own it."

And just like that I have friends. Friends who it would appear are at the bottom of the food chain in this school. Truth be told I haven't actually noticed. I came to the sudden realization that Kurt was mistreated yesterday, but I guess I was a little distracted last week. The three are happy to fill me in though and from what I can gather there's a big group of these guys, and they are all harassed for one small thing.

"Glee club," Mercedes explains. "It's not cool here."

"But … You've got three cheerleaders and what, four, five guys from the football team in the club. Doesn't that boost you up at all?"

"No, it just drags them down." Kurt says in bitterness. "Quinn was the queen bee last year until Puck knocked her up. After that she was actually below us, if you'll believe it. Yeah, she's the head cheerleader again but she's still in the club. And Puck.-"

"The one with the Mohawk?"

"The very same." Kurt smirks at me, amused by my interest in the subject. He chews on his salad before continuing. "His badass persona's been in jeopardy ever since it became clear he likes to sing. I think Lauren Zizes surpasses him on the bad scale now."

"Who?" I ask.

"Bigger girl, she wears a lot of hooded sweatshirts and beanie hats?" Tina pipes up.

Kurt shudders at the thought. "I'd go through her closet and burn it all if she wasn't a wrestling champion."

I chuckle at the thought and eye the ensemble Kurt's put together today; the guy loves bow ties.

"Anyway, no one dares touch Santana or Brittney. They're the only two members of the club who haven't been slushied. Santana's tough as nails … and a bitch," he says as an afterthought.

I open my mouth to ask what being slushied is but they are on a roll.

"And we suspect Brits's child like nature puts people off attacking her. It would be like kicking a toddler," Tina says.

"That and Santana will break your nuts with one slice of her talons if you so much as look at Brit the wrong way. I know Santana's like your girlfriend or something but; be warned." Mercedes points her fork at me and I put my hands up in a sign of surrender.

"Okay first of all, she's not my girlfriend."

"Does she know that?" Mercedes smirks at me.

I drop my head to the table and they all understand the answer. "Would it make you feel better if we told you the entire male population of this school has been through it? Well, except me," Kurt says, pushing his tray away from himself as he finishes eating.

I nod and lift my head back up to rest it dejectedly on my hand, although, I can't fathom why Kurt's exempt from the Santana experience. He is really gorgeous.

"Look, in terms of Brittney I don't need warning," I say. "I like her. She asked me if she could pet my hair the other day, because it reminded her of her old pet dog, Thumper."

Kurt chokes on his salad and raises an eyebrow at me in question. Mercedes cocks her head to the side and says, "Thumper the _dog_?"

"I swear on my vogue collection. She didn't say rabbit."

Mercedes and Kurt give each other knowing looks then, but I don't think anything of it. Brittney's anecdotes must be really famous around here.

"Can you sing?" Tina asks me out of the blue.

I look around to see all three of them have their stares fixed on me now. I shrug and figure I may as well be truthful. "Kind of. I mean I used to do school plays and stuff in elementary school but uh … not so much since. Why?"

"It's just; we're all in Glee club so Kurt thought you might like to join us." Mercedes winces, and shoots a glare at Kurt. He smiles at her sweetly. She reaches down towards her feet.

"Have you joined any clubs yet?" Kurt persists.

"No, I haven't, I just. I dunno, I haven't sung in a while and … if you guys are all half as good as Kurt I don't think I'd fit in anyway."

Kurt raises an eyebrow at me in question. "You've heard me sing?"

Oh. Right, I wasn't going to mention that. How do I explain this without sounding creepy and stalkerish? "Yeah, my uh, my bedrooms at the same side of the house as yours and I can hear you singing in the evenings."

Mercedes and Tina look at one another and smirk. Kurt blushes from his cheeks to the tips of his ears. "Oh sorry, I didn't know I was loud."

"Hey hey, no, I like listening to you when I'm doing my homework," I say before I can stop myself. My eyes widen; I was going for comforting, but I think I might have said too much. My neck feels a little hot and I look down at the table.

"Thank you, Blaine," Kurt says shyly.

"So will you join? It'll be fun." Tina seems to take pity on us both and intercedes.

I look around at all three of their hopeful faces. "You don't know if I can sing."

"My boyfriend Mike can't sing and he's in the club."

Damn she's taken away my one defense. I rub my hand through my hair in defeat. "I'll think about it."

I hear a strange squeal come from Kurt's direction, and I look to see he has a little crooked smile on his face and I can feel his leg bob up and down beside mine. Maybe it'll be worth joining if it puts that smile on his face.

To Glee club, or not to Glee club, that is the question … and I need to stop studying Shakespeare. So yeah, my friends aren't cool. And you know what? I've never been more comfortable at a lunch table, not since middle school. With Kurt, Mercedes and Tina, I've got one whole friend more than I did at my last school. That's progress. And if I were to join Glee club, I might be on route to make more.

* * *

><p>"<em>Getting to know you,<em>

_Getting to know all about you,_

_Getting to like you …"_

"Blaine shut your damn window."

Startled I twist around where I am situated on the floor surrounded by my art project. My Dad is leant against the door frame. Its seven am Friday morning, before I have to be in school. I woke up early to put the finishing touches to the assignment that's due in today. By doing so I've made the happy discovery that Kurt gets up at six am, which means I've missed an entire hour of his voice in the mornings while I lay dead to the world until seven am. If I didn't like sleep so much I'd probably get up at six every day just so I can listen to this ritual of his. The only reason my project isn't finished is because I had to let the glue set overnight.

I frown at my Dad. He isn't looking at me though; rather out of my window.

"Why?"

"Because that kid never stops singing and to be honest with you, she's giving me a bit of a headache."

"He."

He looks down at me for the first time. "What?"

I turn back to my art project and roll my eyes. "His name is Kurt, and he is a _boy_."

"Really?" I look at him again and his eyebrows are high, his forehead wrinkled. "That's unfortunate. The poor kid."

"I like it," I say testily. "And can you keep your voice down? He can probably hear you."

We stare at each other for a moment and Dad seems to realize he's crossed some invisible line he hadn't realized I'd drawn. Nevertheless he still opens his mouth and says, "Shut your window then, if you don't want him to hear this."

I glare at him. Okay so clearly I just challenged his masculinity or made him feel less of an authority figure, so he's metaphorically going to beat his chest and set it back to normal, in his usual passive aggressive way. I hate it when he does that. And why take it out on our neighbor, on my new friend? I bite down on the suggestion he close the window himself if he's so bothered by it, and rise from the floor and close my window with a snap.

"Thank you."

Perched on my bed now, my backs rigid and I stare up at him, expectant.

"I don't know what you're getting so snappy about, Blaine. I'm merely pointing out that his voice is higher than you would expect from a boy his age. He's in your grade right?"

"Yes. And he's actually a nice guy," I say with a cold arch of a triangular eyebrow.

"I'm sure he is. I'm not saying it makes him a bad person … Is he gay?"

I blanch at the question. "What? I – I mean I don't know. It hasn't come up in conversation. Why, is that a problem if he is?" I know I sound more defensive than I should given the topic of discussion is such a delicate one in this house, but I just feel suffocated by him right now.

"Don't talk to me like that," he says.

I look down at my lap.

He sighs and sits next to me. I don't think it's my imagination when his hand flexes towards my knee and retreats to the safety of his own lap. "No, of course it's not a problem if he is. Look … I'm trying okay." Dad says. "When you were born, I- I've got to be honest, I didn't see you being attracted to boys. I was brought up to think that being …" His jaw sets.

"gay?" I supply my voice dull.

"Yes, that being gay was … unnatural. I thought you would fall for a girl and settle down eventually. Hell, I could see you being a player in your youth like your old man was." He nudges my side and I turn the corners of my mouth up a fraction and drop it. "There's a whole lot of re-wiring going on in my head at the moment, Blaine."

"I know," I say. And I do. I know he tries. He's the one who buys me Vogue every month.

"_Shhh don't tell your mother or sister."_

He's also the man who made me rebuild a car with him two summers ago, in a bid to get my hands dirty. He's the guy who's telling me the only way I will get by in life is to pretend I'm straight. And I know he means well … but that doesn't stop the resentment that eats away at my opinion of him, devours all the good memories we've shared.

He nods towards the window. "Does he know you're…"

I shake my head and lean back on my hands a bit. "Not that I'm aware of."

"Good. Keep it that way please. Whether it turns out lady-voice is gay or not, I don't want a repeat of last time."

I feel an icy stab in my stomach, and I can't tell if it's a reaction to the reminder of what the family was put through back in New Jersey, or the way he called Kurt 'lady-voice' with such little regard to the person he's speaking of.

He ruffles his hand through his hair in the way I've inherited and gets up again, glancing toward the window again. "Oh yeah, he is a boy."

It takes all the strength I possess not to roll my eyes. "Is that it, because I need to finish my project? It's due in today."

"Actually the real reason I came in here is to let you know that Burt has invited us over for dinner."

"Burt?"

"Uh … your friends father, next door."

"Kurt."

"Yeah him. We're going over there at seven so make sure you're home before six so you can make yourself presentable. Okay? I've been told Friday night dinner is a big deal in their house, so feel privileged we're invited."

I nod again, "Yes sir."

He makes a brisk pace towards the door again. He pauses. "Keep the window shut for now." He leaves.

* * *

><p>I'm ready to go next door at six thirty and end up sat on our sofa watching as Mom wanders in every now and then with a different item of clothing on.<p>

"What do you think? Too dressy?"

I look up at her and smile at her nearly full length black halter dress. "Just a little bit," I say. "We're only going next door. It's not a banquet."

"I know I just don't want them to think we're…" she doesn't finish that sentence and wipes imaginary lint from the dress. She looks up and behind me with a frown. "Saffron, what are you wearing?"

Saffron leaps over the back of the sofa and perches herself next to me. If I'd done that I would have been reprimanded for it. Being the youngest sure gives you privileges. She looks down at her attire. "Jeans and a top," she says.

"We're going to dinner, Saffron, would it kill you to make an effort? Your brothers nicely dressed up."

I look down at my dress shirt with the top two buttons undone and jeans with a puzzled frown. I'm not dressed any smarter than usual.

"Gee, I wonder why," Saffron says and pinches my cheek. I slap her hand away and wrinkle my nose at the implication.

Mom looks between us in confusion and I say quickly, "Mom, if I'm wearing jeans, so can she. And Kurt says his Dad isn't the dressing up type. They're pretty casual."

"Oh fine! We'll go over there looking like that atrocious family in that cartoon you watch all the time. The one with the dog that talks."

"Family Guy," Saffron and I say in unison.

Mom disappears upstairs again and when she comes back she's in a floaty emerald green top and a straight black skirt. "Better?"

I look to Saffron who nods her approval. "It'll pass," she says.

"Good good. JOHN, WE'RE ALL WAITING!" Mom bellows up the stairs. I wince. She only ever raises her voice when she's nervous.

When Dad finally comes grumbling down the stairs we leave just a few minutes after seven and Mom spends the whole thirty second walk from our front door to theirs stressed we aren't punctual.

"Just say our clocks are slow," Saffron says.

Mom ignores that as Dad rings the doorbell of the Hummel residence. The smiling face of a pretty middle aged woman with copper-brown curly hair greets us.

"Come on in. Dinner will be ready in a few. I'm Carol, Burt's partner. You must be Maggie," Carol holds both of Mom's hands in hers and releases them, "and John."

"We can't thank you enough for inviting us over." I refrain from an eye roll. My parents get so formal at things like this.

Carol ushers us into the living room where Burt stands from his arm chair to greet us too. I zone out as I look around. The house is so homey, like it's been lived in for years. So unlike ours, which has been occupied for two weeks now with no décor changes as of yet. You can tell that men live here, but at the same time there's a style to the place that makes me think either an interior decorator had seen to it, or someone else with a keen eye for details. And I get the impression these touches aren't Carols.

I notice a boy I recognize from school sat on the sofa, his long legs make him look awkward sat that low to the ground. He gives me a wave. "Hey Dude." I nod back at him.

The timer sounds with a loud beep from the kitchen. The thump of stairs grabs my attention as Kurt hurries down and runs towards the open kitchen door calling out, "I got it," before disappearing into the kitchen. I smile at that.

Burt chuckles to himself. "That's my boy. He'll be around once he's happy with the food." He nods at long legged boy. "This is my stepson, Finn. He goes to your school too, Kid."

I nod. Now I remember. He's the quarter back on the football team. Kurt has mentioned his sort-of brother, but I didn't for a moment think it was Finn Hudson.

"This is our daughter Saffron, and son Blaine," Mom introduces and my eyes dart away from the kitchen door where they had somehow made their way back to without my awareness and back to the people in front of me with a start.

Carol waves kindly at Saffron and beams at me. "Kurt's told us a lot about you, Blaine. Why don't you go into the kitchen and see if he needs a hand?"

I make to grab Saffron's hand and drag her with me; I'm not mean enough to leave her bored and surrounded by adult small talk, but she snatches it away with a barely conspicuous shake of the head. I look to her in confusion, but her stare is trained on Finn in the lounge area; his eyes are glued to some Buckeyes game on the TV with a hand in a bowl of potato chips. Ah.

I leave her to her staring and walk through to the kitchen where I am greeted with the sight of Kurt bent over the oven, extracting a huge pot out. I avert my gaze away from his uh … his jeans that tonight are tight as ever, and with a blush look around the kitchen. It's spotless save for a bread board placed on the kitchen table. He gives me a surprised smile as he turns around and rests the piping hot pot on the bread board and takes the oven mitts off.

He raises his eyebrow in question.

"Your stepmom sent me in to see if you need help."

"Ah, I see. And there I was thinking you just wanted to say hi." His tone teases, I know this. And yet the annoying kid in me who always wants to please at all times bubbles up with an outcry of;

"No, I did want to say hi! She gave me an excuse to leave the greetings I guess. And yeah…" I scratch the back of my head in confusion. Why is it so hard to talk to this guy sometimes and so easy at others?

He shakes his head at me with a wry smile. "She's good for stuff like that. If you want to help you can get the gateau out of the freezer." He jabs his thumb down at the lower half of the refrigerator, and I do as I'm told with a happy skip in my step.

"You didn't make it yourself?" I say with mock indignation, and pull the cardboard away from the gateau before I rest it on the table, still in the plastic.

"I have a life," Kurt says.

I grin and sit down at the table.

"So that's your sister, huh?"

I nod. "Yep, the only one I got."

He nods. "It's nice to put a face to the cheekiness I've been told so much about. She's pretty."

"Don't you dare go for her … she's too young." It's only half a joke. I know he's not being predatory but the protective older brother rears his head nonetheless.

He gives me an odd look I can't decipher. "Blaine, I'm-"

"Hey Kid! Is the food ready yet?"

"Almost!" Kurt calls back.

Carol bustles in then and I'm shooed out so she can help dish up the pot roast.

* * *

><p>Dinner is a loud affair, not uncomfortable, as I'd expected. Burt and Carol had sat me next to Kurt and Mom; opposite Finn who was next to Saffron, and seemed extremely uncomfortable about this as she gazed up at him adoringly and chattered his ear off. Burt and Carol took the places at the heads of the table. It was … really nice. Burt and Carol are newlyweds I discover.<p>

"Kurt organized our entire wedding in two weeks," Carol gushes. "It was perfect. I only had to rein him in on one thing."

Kurt sniffs at that. "I still think the doves were a good idea."

"You can't feed doves glitter, Kurt, they'll die," Burt says and takes a sip from his beer bottle.

"It sounds like you're quite the party planner then, Kurt," Mom cuts in and leans around me to look at him. "Do you think you'd make a career out of it?"

"I dabble. My first love is singing though. I want to be on Broadway. If that doesn't work out then maybe I'll get into wedding planning instead."

"You like Broadway too?" Dad says and nods in my direction. "This one wanted to be on Broadway when he was a kid. Drove Maggie and I nuts with all the singing. He begged us for guitar and piano lessons. We're just thankful he never asked for drums, or we would have gone deaf."

There's an appreciative chuckle that reverberates around the table. Kurt looks at me. "You don't want to be on Broadway anymore?" His eyes search mine.

I try and act nonchalant and shrug. "I grew out of it, I guess." Kurt's eyes are narrowed, like he knows I've withheld something.

"You should totally join Glee club, Dude," Finn says. "We always welcome new members."

"You're in Glee too?" My eyebrows shoot past my curls. I look to Kurt for confirmation.

"That's how Finn and I knew each other before Dad met Carol," he says and turns to Finn. "I'm trying to get Blaine to join too, but he's dragging his feet."

"It'll be great Dude. The slushies are totally worth it," Finn says through a mouthful of pot roast.

"Slushies?" I look between them in confusion.

Kurt looks sheepish but before he can answer Dad says,

"Well like I said, he liked singing when he was younger but not so much now."

"You should see some of the videos of him performing, Kurt," Saffron says slyly. "There are tons up on YouTube. I especially love the one where he fell off the stage in third grade."

I choke on my fork and look up at her in horror. "You put that on YouTube?"

"He was dressed as a sunflower," she adds.

"Saff!"

"Blaine, don't raise your voice at the table," Mom scolds.

I look between Saffron and Mom in incredulity. "But she – she put that on YouTube, Mom. YouTube! Anyone can see it."

"Not now, Blaine."

"But-"

"I said, not now." Her tone is hard, final. I shut my mouth and glare at Saffron. She has the decency to look a little apologetic. She gives me a weak smile and shrugs.

I shove a forkful of pot roast in my mouth and chew, to give my jaw something to do and almost choke on it again when I feel a hand settle over mine under the table and squeeze. I look over at Kurt in surprise. His eyes widen like he hadn't consciously done so and pulls it back. I look down at my hand. It feels … cold now. Tingles. I give him a weak smile but he avoids my gaze, his cheeks a little pinker than they were a minute ago.

With reluctance I turn back to my food and tune back into the conversation around me. Burt has steered the conversation back to weddings "… used to give his Barbie's and Action Men weddings, and then divorce them all the time-"

"Dad!" Kurt drops his fork and rests his hand on his forehead.

I try not to smile, I really do, but I can't help the grin that spreads across my face. I look up at him and he eyes my juddering shoulders with a murderous glare. He shakes his head at me and I know it's a warning. _Speak of this to no one. _

I pat his knee in reassurance before I realize what I'm doing and take it away with a sharp intake of breath. His eyes are curious again, but soft and I have to look away from the way the green melds with the blue. I drag my fork through my plateful in embarrassment. I have no idea why I just did that.

"So what do you do, besides put videos of your brother up on YouTube, sweetie?" Carol says, and her eyes twinkle at Saffron.

"Cheerleading mostly," she shrugs.

"Oh, you're on the squad in your new school?"

"Saffron was going to be head cheerleader before we moved," Mom cut in with pride. "We couldn't miss this opportunity for John at work though, so we had to move." I raise my eyebrows at the obvious lie but say nothing. "She's settling in fine though."

"Well with your experience I bet they love you in your new squad," Carol says kindly.

Saffron nods. "I am the newest there so it may take a while to get back where I was so…"

I frown at her. She never misses an opportunity to brag about cheerleading. I make a mental note to ask her later.

"I'll be back in a minute," Kurt excuses himself from the table.

"You okay, Kid?" Burt asks.

"Yeah, just a stomach ache." He holds it as if to reiterate this point physically.

I watch as he disappears upstairs. When he returns a good ten minutes later he proceeds to clear the plates ready for dessert, and I don't find out what he was doing until after dessert when Mom makes our excuses saying she has to be up early in the morning. Mom and Dad have already said their goodbyes and dragged Saffron away from Finn when Kurt stops me with a hand on my shoulder and gives me a folded piece of paper.

"Read it when you're alone," Kurt says in my ear.

I nod and slip it in my pocket. "Thanks for inviting us Mr. and Mrs. Hummel." I look at Kurt, "And thanks for the great pot roast. And dessert, even if you didn't make it," I add with a sly wink.

He rolls his eyes. "Blaine Anderson is hard to please. I'll remember that."

I shove his shoulder and wave goodbye to Burt and Carol. Finn has already disappeared.

Only when I'm inside my room with the door shut do I fish the note out of my pocket and open it.

_Hey Blaine, _

_I had a great time tonight. I just wanted to clear something up, but I don't know what your parents thoughts on the subject are, so I decided not to mention it in front of them. What you said about me taking advantage of your sister. I know that was a joke but I wanted to assure you that would never happen because, for one thing she's way too young and secondly: _

_I'm gay._

_I thought that was kind of obvious. Karofsky did call me a Fairy the other day … everyone at McKinley knows, but I guess you hadn't noticed, or maybe you don't care. I don't know. Either way, I just thought you should know. Maybe this is overstepping but I'm just going to go ahead and say this … I kind of get the feeling I might not be the only one? If you're not then I'm sorry. I hope you don't take my asking the wrong way. There's no malice behind it. If you are though, I promise I won't say anything. I understand how hard it is to accept in yourself, and I would never out you. _

_I hope this doesn't make things weird, but if you want to talk, I'm here._

_Kurt._

_P.S: McK_New_Directions_

_That's the Glee clubs YouTube channel if you want to check us out. Look at Push It. That's one of our most cringe-worthy ones. Just in case you feel embarrassed by your third grade play being up on YouTube ;)_

I drop the letter onto my bed; my hands have gone numb. And I think its spread through my whole body.

He knows I'm gay.

Kurt is gay.

Oh god. I think back to the conversation I had with Dad in the afternoon. He told me not to tell him, but he knows anyway. What if other people know? No, Kurt must know because he's gay too. He knows what it's like so he can recognize it in other people.

The burning question is, do I tell him the truth or continue to lie?

I sit for five minutes and stare at the letter on my bed mulling over the consequences of both options. On the one hand if I tell him, he promised he won't tell anyone else, and I'd have someone to relate to. On the other though if I lie, then my secret will remain safe. There will be less chance of its secret discovery, the less people who know. If he was to find out I lied to him though, he'd probably never speak to me again. I lay down on my bed. A dull ache has started in the back of my head.

My eyes trace over the address of the YouTube channel. Curiosity wins over and I open the lid of my laptop and load the internet. I find the New Directions channel with ease and scroll through until I find the one Kurt recommended. I press play after it's loaded to the full and –

"HOLY SHIT!"

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Push It is one of my favourite performances of their just because its so funny and Kurt was amazing haha.**

**About Blaine's Dad. I don't want to represent him as someone who is actively homophobic and hostile towards his son. More misunderstood. I know there are a lot of fanfics that have him as really nasty, but thats not how I see my version. I hope its coming across that his actions come from an over protective place, both of his family and himself. Blaine recognises that but still resents him because its his life.**

**I promise you will find out all these things about Blaines past that I hint at. How he stopped singing (there's story behind that), exactly what happened with Peter Lance. The event that threw his Dad over the edge and triggered the decision to move them.**

**KURT KNOWS! :o yeah, like you hadn't guessed that before the revelation :P**

**FYI: Part of the next chapter will be more mature at the beginning. Just a warning ahead of time in case you don't like things of a sexual nature. Then again you are willingly reading a story with an M rating so ... it's a slow burner but it will be happening at points in the story. It isn't too long and I've written so you can easily skip over it and read the rest of the chapter, if you aren't comfortable with that type of content.**

**Until next time. **


	5. Bad Day

**A/N I'm on a roll with this. I was procrastinating doing my job yesterday so all my proofing was done quicker than expected. Anyhoo Chapter five and Blaine is conflicted. Bless him. Not much to say really other than the usual round of thank you's! You guys are awesome. Thanks to my regular reviewers for the encouragement. I appreciate every word and do read them I promise. I just haven't had time to reply yet :) and thanks to the 1,000 plus people who have clicked onto this story since my last update. I see you. Wow. **

**So I'll let you read.**

**Disclaimer: Not Mine. Wish it was. Boo.**

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Five<strong>

_His body presses me, back against the wall and I gasp at the friction. God this feels good. His full and kiss swollen lips trail over my neck and nibble at my earlobe, and the jolts of pure pleasure that surge south are almost too much for me to handle. How does anyone live without this for long? How have _I_ lived without this so long? My nerve endings are on high alert, and all I can see is him in the back of my irises. He lick's up the column of my throat and pulls my mouth back in for a kiss. I accept it hungrily, his tongue dominates mine and I'm more than okay with that. _

_He hums a familiar tune into my mouth and I smile a little against his lips. Who needs to breath? My hands travel up under his shirt and over his lean and smooth back. He shudders, and I feel it pass through me too like we're one person. He breaks free from my mouth and lowers his head to my shoulder, humming into it. My hand slides lower down his back and onto the swell of his ass and he bites down on my shoulder, grinds into me. An intense shot of arousal short circuits my brain for a moment and all I can do is reach my fingers down the back of his pants and simultaneously seek out the first bit of flesh I can find with my mouth. I blindly press my lips to what feels like the hard shell of his ear, and pull at it with my teeth playfully._

_He groans and lifts his head, presses his lips to mine again and I gratefully press back against them hard. Intoxication. Pure intoxication; the smell of him, the feel, the sounds he makes, the soft and beautiful hum of his voice all around me. He breaks the kiss again and I try to follow but he grabs my arms and pins them above my head. His knee presses into my crotch and my head falls back against the wall. A hand traces over my face once._

"_Look at me."_

_I'm unable to disobey. I open my eyes and stare into his for the first time since this started. They are darker than usual but I can still see the rim of azul around his blown pupils. I try to say something, articulate just how beautiful he is but no sound leaves my gaping mouth._

_His eyebrow is raised and he doesn't break eye contact even as he lowers himself to his knees. I'm entranced, hooked. _

_The humming is getting louder … and now there seems to be words in this weirdly familiar song even though his mouth isn't moving, isn't shaping the words. _

_His hand lifts up and before I can take in a shaky breath he palms me through my pants. I groan loudly and my head hits the wall behind me again and again. He rubs me through the material and my mumbles are incoherent nonsense. Then his hand is no longer there and I whine. That is, until I feel his fingers slither down the front of my pants and then his bare fingers are fingering my balls and the combination of pressure pressed down on my crotch and his searing hot gaze is too much and the humming is all around me and he's unzipping my pants now and oh god his mouth is moving to press a gentle kiss to my…_

* * *

><p>"BLAINE!"<p>

I jump up and nearly fall out of bed. I stare in panic at the door which makes a really loud bang that matches the hammer of my heart against my ribcage.

"Blaine, are you up?" my Moms voice calls through it. Oh right. It's not the door making the noise. It's her knocking.

"I'm up," I say thickly and rub my eyes.

"Hurry up." I hear her footfall fade away and I'm left with nothing but the sound of a soft melody that floats through my bedroom window.

"_Loving you, isn't really something I should do,_

_Shouldn't wanna spend my time with you,_

_I should try to be strong._

_But baby you're the right kind of wrong."_

Kurt, I register at the back of my mind. Right, he sings in the morning too. I collapse back down. I think I've heard the song in a film or something. Daylight is streaming into my window, and I eye it in distaste. I really need to find some curtains to block it out. My legs feel uncomfortable and I look down to see them twisted in my sticky sheets.

Sticky sheets?

"_Baby you're the right kind of wrong!" _he sings louder.

Experimentally I shift my body a little and … yup, that's what I think it is. I groan and cover my face in embarrassment. I haven't had a wet dream in over a year now, I was under the impression they were a thing of the past. Perhaps not.

I peel the sheets off of me, and after a moment's hesitation take my pajama pants off and toss them in the laundry basket, then as an afterthought I strip my bed and shove the sheets in to. I'll have to rush home and wash them before Mom does. She used to tell me it was nothing to be embarrassed about.

"_It's a perfectly normal thing at your age, honey. It's nothing to be ashamed of. All your classmates will be going through the same thing."_

Stood naked in the middle of my room, I peek through the window to make sure Kurt isn't by his and looking out at all, before I hurry into my conjoined bathroom for a shower.

Kurt.

I haven't seen or spoken to him since Friday evening. It's Monday. I'm quite impressed with my ability to avoid someone who lives next door and can look into my room at any point should he desire to do so.

Mental Note: Buy Curtains!

I turn my shower down to cold and step gingerly under the spray. I didn't realize who that dream was about until the end. He's the only person I know with eyes that color – that mix of colors I should say. I've just made friends with him and already I'm having fantasies? Not good. I guess this is what happens when a guy tells me he is gay too. It's like my subconscious decided that's permission enough to fantasize, when I'm asleep and cannot control the images that rise unbidden to the forefront and tease me.

'Straight, straight, straight," I mumble at the white tiles.

A flash of Kurt pinning me against a wall mocks me again and the nasty little voice in my head mocks me with a '_uh huh, keep telling yourself that_.' I shake it out violently and turn the dial of the shower even lower.

Friends DON'T think about their friends like that.

I feel disgusted with myself. I've been afraid of this ever since I met him to be honest. He's just too good looking for his own good. There I said it. Kurt and I have been on good terms for a week now; I doubt it'll stay that way if I start thinking _those_ thoughts about him. He'll smell it a mile off and run for the hills. I mean, he knew I was gay from two weeks of interaction with me, how long until that perceptive mind starts reading mine?

I stay in the shower for five minutes until I'm certain I've cooled off enough and return to my room wrapped in a white towel. I snatch a pair of boxer briefs from my top drawer and fumble in the middle of the room to put them on with one hand, while the other holds my towel up over my waist. I hop a little in the effort to slot my legs in the leg holes, lose my balance, stumble into the desk by my window and stub my toe.

"Ow!" I drop to the floor and grip my foot in my hands. Why is it, toes seem to hurt the most when you injure them? They're so small!

A musical laugh weaves its way through my pain fogged mind and I lift myself with caution onto my uninjured foot and peer out the window. Kurt has one elbow leant against his window sill and his cheeks are pink, I assume from the effort he seems to be putting into not laughing. An unsuccessful attempt, it seems if I'm to judge from the shake of his shoulders.

I blush a deep shade of crimson and scratch the back of my head. Of all the times he had to look into my window. It was then. I duck down again and hook my underwear over my legs properly to hoist them up. With my body no longer so exposed I give serious consideration to crawling around my room in shame to collect my clothes for the day instead of allowing him to see me.

"Stop being a wimp, Anderson," I say to myself.

I muster up as much of my dignity as is salvageable and straighten up. He's still there. He isn't laughing now, but his eyes twinkle at me in clear amusement. He gives me a little wave and holds up a pad of A4 paper that has large words scrawled across it in clear script for me to read.

_Sorry, I don't mean to laugh. Are you OK?_

I cock my head to the side in intrigue. If I can hear him laugh than I'd definitely hear him talk to me, so why is he using paper instead? I rub my face and give a slight exaggeration of a nod for his benefit. He rips the top paper off the pad and writes on the other side of it. He holds up two different pieces of paper.

The first reads: _For what its' worth that's one of the funniest things I've ever woken up to. _

The second: _And before you say it, NO I WAS NOT PEEPING AT YOU._

I snort and say loud and clear through my window. "Sure, keep telling yourself that."

He laughs that high pitched laugh and my stomach simultaneously soars and drops when I remember the dream. My smile slips a little but I don't think he notices because he hooks his messenger bag over his shoulder, waves and disappears out of his door.

My hands scrunch into fists and rub my eyes. "Did I just flirt with him?" I ask the room. As expected, it doesn't answer. I look in the mirror my Mom insisted on hanging on my wall. My curly hair is bushier than usual from how I slept on it and I make a futile effort to flatten it down before I give up with a huff.

"Get it together, Anderson," I say to my reflection. "It was just a dream. It doesn't mean anything."

It means nothing.

Nothing …

* * *

><p>"Urgh! You worthless piece of ... start!"<p>

I turn the key in the ignition and push down on the accelerator. The car makes an unhealthy growl in protest. I release it.

Saffron eyes me from the side, lips pursed in the way she does before she's about to say something I probably won't like, but she'll find funny.

"I think what you're trying to call it is a worthless piece of shit, Blaine."

I glare at her. "Not a good moment, Saff."

"When is it ever?"

"And stop swearing."

"Uh huh."

"Having engine trouble?"

The hairs on the back of my neck stand to attention and I look over at Kurt who is leant down and peaking through the driver window at me.

"Yeah." I flick the ignition again but it makes the same noise.

"Pop the hood," Kurt says.

I peak at Saffron whose bored expression has turned into one of interest, before I press the button and Kurt sidles over and lifts the hood up. I get out of my car and stand behind him. His frown worries me as he scans over the engine, but doesn't touch. He is dressed really nicely today and I know that jacket is Alexander McQueen. He rests his hands on the raised edge of the hood and gives me the side eye.

"I'm going to ask you a very serious question, and I want you to answer me honestly."

I nod for him to continue.

"When was the last time you had this serviced?"

I scratch the back of my neck. "I can't remember."

He nods like I have confirmed his suspicions. "I'm surprised she's lasted this long in this state, Blaine."

I open my mouth to answer but he looks over his shoulder at Burt who has just appeared at their front door. "Dad! Blaine's car won't start."

And then I remember that Kurt's dad's a mechanic. Burt comes over and looks inside too and grimaces. The two Hummel's share a look and I feel like I'm intruding on a silent conversation.

Burt adjusts a few things around the engine. "Kurt, can you rev the engine for me?"

I stand back and Kurt slides into my seat and does so. The air is filled with a loud and prolonged growl from my car.

"MORE!" Burt shouts over the noise.

The engine gets, if possible even louder and steam erupts from it.

"STOP!"

The sound dies down and Kurt's back at my side.

"She's going to need some service done to her, kid" Burt says fiddling inside. "She's not healthy. Tell you what, I'll take this baby into the garage with me, and we'll see if I can have her good as new by tomorrow at the latest."

I groan. "I've got to take my sister to school." And Mom and Dad have both gone to work already.

"I'll drive you both." Kurt fiddles with his car keys.

"Oh – I…"

"Come on Blaine, it's not like her school is much of a detour anyway, and driving you guys home won't exactly go out of my way either," he says dryly.

That's not why I'm reluctant. I shiver at the thought of the five minute drive from Saffron's school, to McKinley, alone; long enough to talk about … things. And that dream is still fresh in my mind. And now I've remembered that Kurt is a mechanics son, and knows about engines and its one of the hottest thoughts in the world. I shouldn't wonder what he looks like in a dirty undershirt covered in engine oil, but I do and … oh, they are staring at me waiting for an answer I haven't given.

"Sure that'll be great, thank you," I say with a grateful smile. I tap on my passenger window and Saffron opens the door. "Come on squirt, she's broken. Kurt's going to drive us."

She rolls her eyes but says nothing as Kurt leads her over to his Navigator. I lock my car and hand the keys to Burt.

"Thanks for this, Mr. Hummel."

"It's Burt, Kid."

"Bye Dad." Kurt calls and I hurry over to the front passenger seat of the navigator.

The ride to Saffron's school is strange and quiet. She doesn't say a word, which I'm more than surprised by. I thought she'd use this opportunity to embarrass me beyond repair but she doesn't even look at either of us, and opts to stare out the window with a tired expression.

"Thanks for the ride Kurt," she says and opens the door when we're in the parking lot.

"No problem. Blaine and I have Glee club tonight. Do you think you can hang around until 4.30?" Kurt turns to face her.

I look at Kurt in surprise. She looks at me in surprise and smiles for the first time that morning. "Glee club, huh. Sure I guess I can find something to do until then."

"You don't have cheerleading?" I ask.

"No … we don't meet on Mondays. Have fun at Glee club!" She shuts the door and I raise an eyebrow at Kurt as he pulls out of the lot.

"_Blaine _and I have Glee club?" I repeat back to him when he doesn't look at me. I can only see the profile of his face but I can't miss the innocent smirk that appears.

"Well, I am driving you home. It won't hurt."

The corners of my mouth twitch as I recall watching the New Directions videos. I may have had some of the more Kurt centric ones on loop all weekend. "I watched Push It."

Kurt's cheeks go pink. "And?"

"What were you guys trying to do with that?" My voice is full of laughter, my smile wide. I pinch my cheeks to keep it from becoming laughter.

"Give the student population what they want. Sex," he says like it's the most obvious thing in the world.

I nod and my mood sobers. "What makes you think I even want to join?"

"Well let's see. All of your friends in the school are in the club, so at least you'll understand what the hell we're talking about when we discuss Glee. Don't think I haven't noticed your eyes glaze over sometimes when Rachel gets particularly passionate. Secondly, you used to want to be on Broadway which makes me think you can probably hold a tune, and thirdly, you like listening to me sing. You _like_ it. I don't know what's happened in the past that's made you reluctant, but I know you want to, even if you don't know it."

My mouth has made the shape of an O. "You got all that just from one offhand comment of my dad about how I used to like Broadway?"

"Used to?" Kurt cocks his head at me and rolls his eyes. "Please. You listen to _me_. Besides Gaga and the occasional top 40, all I sing is Broadway."

"But-"

"Live a little, Blaine. Life's too short to let uneducated Neanderthals stop you from doing the things you really want!" He seems surprised by his own outburst and clamps his mouth shut tight.

I shift in my seat and turn away and out my window. This conversations gotten dangerously close to the subject I want to avoid. "I don't know what you're talking about," I mumble.

There's silence for the remainder of the journey, the atmosphere sparks with all the things we don't say. The parking lot is nearly full when we pull in. Kurt parks his navigator as close to the building as is possible and removes his keys. Neither of us makes a move to leave the car.

"Sorry," he says.

I look over at Kurt. His eyes are wide and bluer than normal and he worries his bottom lip between his teeth in a way that reminds me of the dream I had. Not a good avenue for my mind to travel down. I cock my head in question and he elaborates.

"Sometimes I can be a little … pushy. And I make assumptions and … maybe I'm wrong, maybe I'm right, but I let my mouth go before I have time to think what I say through. I – You – you don't have to come to Glee club if you don't want to, okay?"

My jaw has locked so I nod instead.

"And you don't have to tell me anything," he says in a soft voice I can just about hear. And I know we're not talking about Glee club anymore. He means the letter, about what he suspects, what I haven't confirmed or denied yet.

"Thank you," I say.

He searches my eyes for a sign of … forgiveness maybe? Whatever he wants to see I think he finds it because he smiles warmly. "Hang around in the library or something until 4.30. Come on we're going to be late for Homeroom."

* * *

><p>I storm out of English and towards the cafeteria that Lunch time, grateful to have some kind of break from this crappy day. I should have known. That dream was an omen; ruining my sheets and pyjama pants, stubbing my toe, embarrassing myself in front of Kurt, my car not starting, the disagreement with Kurt. It was all one great big neon sign that warned me this day was going to do nothing but piss me off. It's so bad that my internal monologue is actually littered with swear words! Saff would have a field day.<p>

I hate my English teacher for giving me three extra books that I supposedly was meant to have already read before I even came to the school. It turns out even if I wanted to ditch the library and go to Glee club with Kurt, I can't now. I hate Mr Shue giving me an F for my homework. Yeah, like he can speak Spanish. I hate that Azimio guy who slammed me into a locker before second period for being short – what kind of a lame ass excuse to injure someone is that?

I just want to sit down, eat and drown my sorrows in diet coke. Kurt is sat alone when I enter the cafeteria and pay for my food. Unusual, I think as I approach. Mercedes is normally here before anyone else. I slap my tray down on the table opposite him and he jumps. It's only when I've settled down and propped my head on my hand moodily that I realize his eyes are bloodshot and his silky white skin is paler than normal. All thoughts of murder evaporate and my eyes soften.

"Hey, you okay?" I ask.

He nods mutely and gives me a weak smile.

I don't return it, my focus on him, and I try to deduce what is wrong. I stuff my burger into my mouth in thought.

He wrinkles his nose. "Do you have any idea how much saturated fat there is in that?"

Oh god, please don't start an argument with me. Please. My mouth is full so I shrug and examine it like that'll give me a clue.

"A lot," he answers. "You're willingly clogging your own arteries."

I swallow my mouthful and give him my most charming smile, even if it is a little forced. "It's why it tastes so good."

He rolls his eyes. "Fine. Die an early death. See if I come to your funeral. I'll carve into your tombstone '_should've had the salad_.'"

I laugh. "I'll cross that bridge when we come to it." I know what he's doing. I'm an expert at the art of distraction when I don't want to talk about myself. "So are you going to tell me what's gotten you upset or am I going to have to pin you down and threaten to feed you artery cloggers?"

He leans his head atop of his linked hands and I feel like he's x raying me. "Well there's a double standard if I ever saw one. You've been stomping around near enough all day. I thought you were going to stab someone eye out in French. Are you going to tell me?"

I take another bite of my burger so I don't have to answer right away. I can't fault his logic there. I don't tell him my problems so why should he tell me mine? I swallow ready to drop the subject when-

"Karofsky."

"What?"

He nods at something, or someone behind me and I put my burger down and turn to look where Kurt's eyes linger and sure enough, he's sat at his usual table again, surrounded in a sea of red football pride. Perfect, like I need _that _to add to my mood. I look back at Kurt who examines the table with a determined pout. My fingers twitch towards the hand that rests on the table, but think better of it at the last second.

"Did he … did he hurt you again?"

"It was just a locker slam. No big deal. He's pissed off w- I got him suspended." His voice is tight, closed. I think about telling him about Azimio but a distraction comes in the form of Mercedes and Tina.

"She's coming," Tina says.

"Who?"

"Santana," the other three say in unison.

I groan and blush. My burger falls from my fingers onto the greasy cardboard it came with. I don't feel so hungry now. "Should I run?"

"Too late."

The next thing I know I have a lap full of Latina and her mouth is on mine before I even greet her. Her mouth is smooth and her tongue probes my lips for entrance. I open my mouth to try and say something and she seizes the opportunity and slips her tongue in my mouth. This is so weird. It feels a little bit like the time in second grade when I ate a slug for a dare. Only the tongue is a lot faster and warm. And there aren't bits of grass or dirt that cling and wedge between my two missing front teeth. I recall the feeling I had in my dream when Kurt kissed me … this feels nothing like that. I open my eyes wide, and look over at our audience of three. Tina looks sympathetic, Mercedes like she's about to throw up, but its Kurt's expression that strikes me the most, and I think it's because I can't work out what it is. He looks, kind of pained. He catches my eye and his expression smooth's out.

Santana pulls back eventually. "You seriously had to go for the burger, didn't you," she says and folds her arms over her chest.

"I'm sorry what?"

"Listen Hobbit, I have needs, okay. If I wanted to taste a burger I would buy one. Next time, wash your mouth out or something and stop being so selfish. Don't buy one in the first place, because your mouth tastes like a dead cow."

I glare at her. "Wow. I'm being selfish? You know what, I'm not having the greatest day of my life right now and you're not helping; I'm having a bad hair day, I stubbed my toe earlier, my car won't start, I got an F for something I worked my ass off on, I've been shoved into a locker for being _short_ and have been told by my English teacher that I have to read three books that weren't given to me when I got to this stupid school. Karofsky is back and has already hurt one of my best friends when it's only Monday and will no doubt make his presence known to me soon, and now I've just been snapped at for eating whatever the heck I want and called a Hobbit. So if you could rewind that and maybe not talk to me like I'm a piece of shit skewered onto one of your talons, I'd really appreciate it."

Oh. My. God. I have no idea where that just came from.

"Excuse me?" Santana glares at me with an expression I can only liken to murderous. "No one and I mean no one talks to me like that."

"Well you might want to get used to it honey because I'm going to let you in on a little secret."

And I can't seem to stop.

"Not every guy in the world is going to bend to your every whim. You have needs? Men do too, and if you try and get a man to choose between you and food, he's probably going to choose the latter, because at least food doesn't YELL at us. Like right now. I'm going to eat my burger, because it's my mouth, my body and I _want_ one. Okay Satan," I say hotly.

Her mouth is agape. I think mine would be too if I was outside of my own body right now. I can't believe I just let that happen. I just yelled at a girl. God it felt good though. Apologize. Yeah, I should do that. She stands up and I flinch. I think she's about to slap me or shout or something. And then it doesn't come, only a breathless;

"That … was so … WANKY. Remind me to get you angry before we do it. Big virgin or not, the angry sex would be _epic_. Oh and," she leans toward my ear and lowers her voice; "if you call me Satan again I promise I'll make you feel so good you'll pass out." And then she's turned on her heel and walked away with a swish of her short, red, pleated skirt.

I'm left in stunned silence. Half the cafeteria stares at me and I duck my head, sheepish.

"Damn. Curly's, got bite."

"I guess you are straight. Kurt was right," Tina says, and she looks a little … disappointed?

Confused, I look from her to Kurt. "What?" Where'd that come from?

"Tina and I have been debating whether you're gay or straight," Mercedes says sheepishly. "Not that you seem gay or anything, we just wondered, is all."

"Yes, and I told you, I've had this conversation with him and he's straight." Kurt watches his fingers drum on the table.

I frown. I have no idea what I just did to make them decide once and for all which gender I swing toward but I guess I should be happy about that. "Oh, right, yeah."

Kurt gives me a small little smile. "I'm one of your best friends?"

I blush a little. I didn't realize I'd said that in the middle of my tirade. "Well, Yeah?"

He nods in nonchalance and goes back to stabbing at his salad. "I guess I could say your one of mine too."

It's in that moment I know I can trust him. I know he won't tell, because he's already covered for me before he knows whether I need it or not. My dad's words echo in my mind;

'_Does he know … good keep it that way … I don't want a repeat of last time._'

For the first time I feel like I could tell someone and it wouldn't hurt me. Plus I know he's gay for definite. He's right. Everyone knows he is. I was stupid to even question it before.

The rest of my day goes by quickly. Word seems to spread around school that the new kid has a temper. Even the teachers seem to know about my outburst and don't call upon me in class. No one bothers me in the library as I read through the first of the three books I need to know before my next class on Wednesday, and the corridors are empty as I meet Kurt at the school entrance at 4.30. We're safely in the car and pulled out of McKinley's lot when I say it.

"You're right."

He looks over. "About what?"

"… I'm gay."

A stop light halts our progress for a moment and he looks at me, with a small smile.

"I know."

"You do? But, you told Mercedes and Tina-"

"I won't tell anyone," he interrupts.

He reaches away from the gear shift and squeezes my hand in a gesture of kinship. And I understand.

He knew all along … figures.

* * *

><p><strong>AN So, no Glee club yet but he'll get there, and he's admitted it to someone. **

**I've made Blaine so obvious to Kurt, Mercedes and Tina because the way Darren Criss portrays Blaine, he just seems like an open book of emotions who is bad at hiding things even when he's trying. Plus I have a gay best friend and he reckons my gaydar has improved a lot since I met him, and I spend a lot of my time checking guys out on his behalf. Knowing Kurt would open the girls eyes a bit. **

**At least with Kurt by his side he's got some form of support now.**

**Song Kurts singing in the morning is: Right Kind of Wrong by Leanne Rimes. Can be seen in Coyote Ugly. LOVE that film.**

**Review if you like, if not see you next time xxx**


	6. Bedroom Chats

**A/N: Hello lovelies. This is a little later than usual, but I had a wedding to go to yesterday and my brother was the best man so I was helping him write his speech. Better late than never though. **

**I'm blown away by you guys response to this. I've had over 1,000 hits since my last chapter, and your reviews make me happy. I will respond soon. I've had a busy time but next week is much lighter. Whether you like the story or not, thanks for giving it a try :) **

**A reviewer asked for more antics through the window, so I have supplied. **

**Enjoy!**

**Disclaimer: Ryan Murphy and Fox own this. I own Saffron, Jade and Matt.**

* * *

><p><em>"…if you wanna get with me, better make it fast,<em>

_So don't go wasting, my precious time,_

_If you really bug me then I'll say goodbye!"_

There is one very unfortunate issue with my window being so close to Kurt's. He sees me do things I would rather he didn't.

Tuesday, the day after my admission, Kurt assures me he is going to be at his Dads garage until later in the evening. Burt is determined to have my car ready, but there's a sudden surge of business to deal with, and Kurt goes in to assist him straight after dropping Saffron and I home after school.

Free from the self conscious worry that my neighbor will catch me in the act, I lock myself in my room, put on an embarrassingly cheesy playlist, and dance. God I miss doing this. I defy you to find a better pastime to relieve stress and worry.

Two issues with this are as follows; as I've mentioned before, I can't dance, and my music choices are ones I maybe ought to have thought better of.

"_Yo, I tell you what I want, what I really want,_

_So tell me what you want, what you really really want_

_I want a I want a I want a I want a,_

_You know I really really really wanna zigazig ah!"_

I belt it out, head towards the ceiling. Needless to say it is an odd moment when I do a spectacular (in my head) spin towards the window and find him stood with his hand still on his messenger bag that rests on his bed, mouth agape.

I freeze almost immediately, arms still in the air and my throat closes up. The song plays away in the background like an interruption hasn't occurred, and the treacherous blush that seems to happen a lot in relation to this boy make its way from my neck, to my ears.

Kurt bursts out laughing, and shakes his head. I shift awkwardly - How do you explain to someone why you were gyrating around your room singing at the top of your lungs?

To his credit he doesn't pass comment on the incident. Rather he gives me an amused shake of the head and aims his hand towards my open window. With a surprising amount of precision he chucks my car keys through it and onto my seat.

"She's all better," he calls, gentle voice lilting in amusement.

"Thank your Dad for me," I squeak and dive onto my bed in embarrassment; the track on my iTunes library has changed to Cotton on Joe. I groan and leave it on. I've made my bed, may as well milk the situation and prove beyond belief how dodgy my taste in music can be.

* * *

><p>Wednesday is a tense affair. Well, for me anyhow. Kurt appears completely at ease with the world, and I find I scowl at him on more than one occasion at his apparent amusement in my discomfort with his presence. He feels like a ticking time bomb that could spill my secret at any moment.<p>

At lunch Kurt's silence on the matter breaks, during one of the rare moments when the majority of the Glee club joins us to discuss what song choices they are going to gang up on Mr. Shue with. Kurt's offhand tone is deceptive when he says,

"We could do the Spice Girls. I know they are nineties and Mr. Shue is stuck in the eighties, but maybe if we meet him halfway he'll be more receptive to our ideas." He looks directly at me with a pointed arch of the eyebrow. "What do you think, Blaine?"

I scowl in response. He's not as nice I thought.

"Why ask him, he's not in Glee club?" Finn says in confusion.

I spend the majority of the week avoiding his company for long periods of time. I'm so embarrassed.

Mental note: BUY CURTAINS!

He makes snarky references to the event all week long, and I'm about ready to sizzle an egg on my face from the heat that's a near constant companion now. So when I open the front door to him on Saturday; coiffed hair perfect, skinny jeans hugging and what appears to be a straight jacket on, I consider for one cynical moment slamming the door in his face. He seems to sense this because he holds a large bag up to his chest.

"I've got something for you."

I gesture for him to enter and ignore the call of, "Doors stays open, Blaine," from my Dad as we ascend the stairs. I haven't mentioned Kurt's sexuality to anyone in my family yet but they all seem pretty certain he is gay. Kurt looks from the living room and me with a curious look.

"You didn't have to get me anything," I say when my door closes with a snap.

"Didn't your Dad say keep the door open?" he says in confusion.

I shrug the question off. "Seriously I don't need a present."

"okay... I know, but I feel kind of bad for teasing you all week and I thought you might appreciate this." I take the bag from him; shoot him a baffled frown as I open the bag. A blue material is sat in there. I look up.

"Clothes?"

He rolls his eyes. "Pull it out."

I do as I'm told and realize there's too much fabric for it to be clothes. I unfold the first to discover it's a curtain. Kurt grins at me.

"I figured you might … appreciate some privacy," he says, with a twitch of his mouth. I grin up at him and my leg bobs up and down.

"Oh my god, Kurt this is amazing. I've been meaning to buy some. Thank you, thank you, thank you!"

Kurt waves it aside. "I wasn't sure what color you'd like, but you can't go wrong with blue. Plus I noticed you wear a lot of red and blue, and I thought the blue would be a little less offensive to the eye. They're thick too to keep the sunlight out. Need a hand putting them up?"

Together we work out how to get my curtain rail off, and before we know it I've got curtains.

"You can listen to the Spice Girls in peace now." Kurt nudges me in the rib. "Just maybe close your window."

I catch his eye and bite my lip. "How much do I owe you?"

"Nothing, I got them from Sheets and Things for a discount. Mr. Shue's ex wife is the Assistant Manager. She blames the Glee club for her divorce so I threatened to burst into song if she didn't give me 40% discount."

"And that worked? Why does she blame the Glee club?"

"Like a charm. Because they divorced not long after New Directions came together. I think show choir gives her a headache so it was fun to mess with her."

"Isn't that kind of … manipulative?"

He shrugs. "She faked a pregnancy to stop Mr. Shue from drifting away from her ... THAT is manipulative. I know I don't get along with him right now, but it was so cruel on the poor guy. I have no remorse."

I blink at him. I swear the more I learn about the Glee club, the more I feel like I've opened Pandora's Box. And these guys want me to join them … well except Rachel, who has informed me in no uncertain terms that I can join the club but-

"_- I can guarantee you won't get any solos. Our club is bursting with my talent, and Finn and only Finn has the vocals and chemistry to compliment me as a lead soloist. Besides, we already have so many members and most are redundant anyway. The guys rarely get solo's. Why add another?"_

"_Wow Rachel. Every time I have a glimmer of a positive emotion toward you, you open your mouth and I want to staple things to your head again," Kurt had said in response, his eyes focused on the file that worked his nails._

"_I'm just sayi-"_

"_No one cares."_

I settle on my bed and motion for him to join me, but his attention is on my desk. He picks up one of the picture frames, and a small smile ghosts across his face. "Who are they?"

He shows me the picture; it's of me, Jade and Matt crumpled together in a heap on Matt's bedroom floor. More specifically Matt has me pinned to the floor and Jade is trying to pull him off me. It's was one of our better moments, when they didn't bicker, and despite the vulnerable position I'm in, I had never felt more safe.

"My best friends Matt and Jade – from back home," I say with a fond smile.

He nods and puts it back. "Do you miss them?" He perches on my bed beside me, his knees pulled up to his chest.

"All the time," I admit. "We still text and call and Skype but it's not the same as them actually … being here."

He rests his head on his knees and looks up at me with his unusual and piercing gaze. They look baby blue in this moment. "Can I ask you a question?"

I cock my head to the side and nod for him to continue.

"Do they know?"

"Who?"

"Your parents? About you being…" He buries his mouth back into his knee.

I lay myself down on my side with my head leant on my hand. "Yes. They uh, I was really scared when I came out," I admit. "Dads a Republican and my Moms parents brought her up to be a strict Christian. I thought I was more or less committing family suicide when I told them."

"You don't have to tell me, Blaine. I'm asking because I don't want to say something in front of your parents that will get you or me in trouble with them."

Smile at that. "They know. We're just … well, Dad wants me to – keep it quiet, just for now, not forever. Just until I'm older, but uh, if you could maybe not mention that you know about me to my Dad that would be great."

He squeezes his knees, his eyes narrow in confusion. "So they are … supportive?"

"Mostly. Mom always has been. There's something about women though, they're kind of more ..."

"Understanding?"

"Forgiving I was going to say but, sure, that too I guess." I chew the inside of my mouth as I think. "Mom said she already knew. Or at least she suspected I might be."

"And you're Dad?" His expression is not unkind. I appreciate that.

"... He's getting better. It's not his fault really. He was brought up to think homosexuality was bad," I elaborate. "My grandfather he uh ... he was kind of an active protestor against gay people back in the eighties, with the Aids epidemic. Mom says he brainwashed my Dad when he was a teenager into thinking the disease was some kind of punishment for the sin of ... doing _that_ with another guy."

"He sounds charming. Your Grandfather I mean."

"Yeah."

"And now?"

I shift until I'm on my back and my arms cross over my chest. "Dad says it was easier to think of homosexuals as sinful and inhuman when it was a kind of ... abject thing he didn't have all that much contact with. He doesn't have any gay friends, or at least, none who would admit to it. But knowing me – having me ... it's something he couldn't ignore I guess. He's never wanted to think of me that way, like I'm some kind of … monster for liking boys, so he accepted me, eventually, when he had a few days to mull it over."

"I don't understand. If he's so accepting, then why would he ask you to pretend you are straight?"

I huff out a deep breath. That's a loaded question without a simple answer. "He's trying to protect me from homophobes I suppose. The way he sees it, if they don't know, they can't hurt me."

Kurt nods. "You've been hurt before." It isn't a question.

"Yes," I keep my eyes on my socks and watch how my left foot toes the other off and on again. "He doesn't want that to happen again ... in high school anyway. I think deep down he knows I'm going to deal with it my whole life. I think he just wants me to have a couple of years of... peace."

"And what do you want?"

I stay silent, because the truth is no one has asked me that. I'm not sure I know.

"What about you're Dad," I ask.

He sighs. "I came out to him last year. We had a few dramas over it but the overwhelming message has always been; he loves me just as I am and he wants me to be able to be myself."

I take my eyes from the cracks in the ceiling and over to him. "He sounds like a good Dad."

"He is. He's not perfect. Neither am I though. I got jealous and upset when he bonded with Finn. I just hated seeing how easy their relationship was, when there had always been this space between my Dad and I."

"What space?"

"Space filled with all the things we don't have in common. He loves sports, I tolerate it. I love cooking, he can burn water. I love fashion ... he just buys clothes if and when he needs it and doesn't care about the label. He thought Ralph Lauren was a brand of hardware appliances."

I chuckle.

"I tried to change myself when I saw how close they were becoming, but it didn't work. Eventually Dad came to me and told me it ..."

"What?"

"He said it was his job to make this okay, not the other way around. He said it was my job to be myself and his job to accept me the way I am and love me no matter what."

"And now you've got Finn and Carol too," I sum up.

He gives me a wry smile. "I got lucky there. Finn and I had our drama but we're fixing it. He told me at the wedding that he'll always be there for me now."

I nod as he comes over and lies beside me, body turned toward me. I bite my lip and shiver at the proximity.

"Are you cold?" he asks. I shake my head and dip it so I can't stare at his eyes that are too close for comfort now.

"I think I would have gone crazy if it wasn't for my sister," I mumble into my sleeve, and I'm surprised it's even left my lips.

Kurt shifts and props his head lower down on the pillow and watches me.

"It's supposed to be me who looks after her, not the other way around. I'm the big brother. She's stronger than me though."

"I doubt that's true," Kurt says softly.

I snort. "Have you looked at me lately?"

He rolls his eyes. "Yes I have and I'm not talking physical here. You might think she's stronger but I think everyone's a little stronger than they think until someone points it out or they notice for themselves. I'm pointing it out to save you the bother," he smiles sweetly at me and I have to drag my eyes away from his eyes again. Their hypnotic.

It's funny. Jade used to say that to me a lot, but I never believed it from her.

"She's always been good to talk to though," I say. "She's annoying as hell, but she really comes through for you when you need her most ... she was the first person I came out to." I smile at the memory. "Sort of. Mom and Dad were arguing one Saturday – or maybe it was Sunday – this must have been about four years ago. She was eight."

Kurt nods for me to continue.

"I remember walking into her room to see if she'd borrowed my favorite t-shirt again and she was lying under her bed, with her ears covered trying to block the screaming from downstairs out. I took her for ice cream. We were sat in the park eating it, and these boys came around the corner … I had a bit of a crush on one of them, and it must have shown on my face because she knew who he was straight away. I was stupid enough to doodle his name in a notebook once and she found it and spent forever asking who he was. She put two and two together in an instant. She's the most weirdly perceptive kid you'll ever meet. Don't spend too much time with her or she'll read you like a book."

"I'll bare that in mind."

"After they were gone she started running around the thankfully deserted park singing k-i-s-s-i-n-g. I don't think she understood what exactly she was implying at the time, or why using my name and his in the song was a stupid thing to do, but I couldn't stop her. Once she calmed down, I remember making her promise not to tell a soul. A year later I told my parents ... not long after that is when the kids at school found out."

"What happened?"

The wall that seemed to have crumbled down with his presence reassembles itself. "It doesn't matter."

"You can tell me."

"I don't want to."

He looks stung.

"Not yet," I amend. "Please, I'm still getting over it in a way and I'm just not ready to … talk about that."

"Okay." We're silent for a few minutes. "I better go," he says. I'm supposed to meet Mercedes at the Mall in half an hour."

I roll backwards off of my bed and onto my feet. "I'll walk you out."

I lead him out of my room down the stairs and to the front door.

"Thanks for the chat. I hope you like the curtains," he says.

"Here." I gesture for him to hand me his phone, which he does, and I type my number into it and pass it back to him. "It occurred to me that we don't have each other's cells," I say with a smile.

"True," he says. "I guess I hadn't thought of it. Your kind of just there in your room if I need you." He grimaces at his words.

I nod. "True, but we won't always be so you can get a hold of me if you need to now wherever we are."

He looks down at his phone and presses a button. A vibration in my back pocket catches my attention but it stops as I pull it out and look. A number I don't recognize is on it and I realize he has just given me his.

"I'll see you at school." He gives me a little wave and then looks up over my head. "Bye Saffron."

I turn and spot Saffron peeping at us between the beams of the banister on the landing.

I grind my teeth together and open my mouth to say something to excuse her, but he waves me off. "I know, I know, you suffer from a little sister." He winks and tingling warmth creeps into my cheeks that I think has nothing to do with the heating. He turns to leave.

"See you at school Blaine."

I close the door and rest my hand on it for a few moments. Did that really just happen?

"Observing the Blaine in its natural habitat, while it deals with matters beyond its experience is a fascinating thing to behold."

Saffron has moved to sit on the top step and stares down at me. Her phone is held up to her lips, and I realize she is recording herself speaking like a bad host of a nature show.

"Notice how the male Hummel and the Blaine talk around the attraction in the room like it's not there. Signs of avoidance can be seen by the awkward posture and the flaming red cheeks."

"Shut up. You're not funny and when I found out who you are crushing on, you are being teased within an inch of your life," I threaten.

She cocks an eyebrow with superiority and speaks into her phone again. "The defensive Blaine's response shows he is in the first phase of obvious attraction: Denial."

"There's nothing to deny."

"It doesn't realize he is only making it more obvious."

I scowl at her as I pass on the stairs. "Have I ever mentioned what a pain in the ass you are?"

"He swears!" she says aghast. "The case is worse than we originally thought. Can the Blaine be saved from its descent into love sick puppy?"

I've had enough of this. I don't think my cheeks can get any redder and I know she won't shut up without force. I grab her from behind and carry her flailing form over my shoulder, down the hall and shove her into a storage closet. I throw my body against the door to keep her from leaving.

"Blaine! Oh my god its dark in here. Okay you've had your fun; it's just a joke. Let – Me – Out!" she punctuates her words with shoves to the door. It barely moves.

"Not until you promise to stop mocking me."

"Fine I won't. Jeeze, let me out. OH MY GOD SOMETHING JUST CRAWLED OVER MY FOOT! Blaine this isn't funny … BLAINE!"

"Blaine why is your sister in the closet?"

I stumble away from the door like it's burned me and Saffron hurls out of it with a hard shove and hits the opposite wall.

"You okay sweetie?" Mom asks her.

"I hate you!" she declares shoving me once and stomps past Mom who looks between us in confusion, laundry basket in hand. She flinches at the slam of Saffron's bedroom door.

"Do I even want to know?" she says.

"She was being a brat."

"So you locked her in there? Blaine, she could have got hurt and you know she's scared of the dark."

No she isn't. She grew out of it when she was nine.

"You're lucky it was me who caught you doing that and not your Dad. Say sorry to her."

I roll my eyes. "Sure, let's all pander to the favorite because she throws a tantrum."

"Oh don't start." She tries to grab my hand as I pass her but I snatch it away. "Blaine?"

I close my bedroom door behind me and grab my bag to do some homework. I'm slapping my textbooks down on my desk when I spot Kurt peering into my window from his, with a wary expression. I offer him a feeble wave. He holds up a note pad, with words written on it. I read;

_I heard screaming? Everything okay?_

I flush. I didn't realize we were that loud. My hand pulls out my own notebook and a marker pen from my school bag. I write a response and hold it up for him to see.

_I shoved my sister in a closet. She got mad._

He smirks and writes something new.

_Fair enough. If Finn wasn't bigger than me, I'd do the same._

I laugh out loud, and scribble down a quick;

_You could try._

I can just about see his eyes roll and an amused shake of a head. We stare at each other in quiet understanding for a few moments, and then he seems to come out of whatever daze he was in and flutters his fingers in a gesture of farewell which I return. I don't move for a while after he leaves his bedroom, confused by how my sour mood had lightened so considerably during such a brief exchange.

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><p><strong>Reviews are appreciated :) Good or bad. I like to know what my readers think.<strong>


	7. Slushies & Kisses

**A/N: Allo Allo good people of the interweb. my sincere apologies for the amount of days it took for me to upload this chapter. Basically I kept rewriting the first half. I'm still not 100% satisfied but figured I'd let you guys be the judge of its worthiness. I apologise in advance for, in my opinion, terrible writing in part 1 of this chapter. Part 2 im much happier with. **

**A massive thankyou to my regular readers and reviewers. Your opinions make me happy good or bad. And thank you to the critical eye who pointed out that 'i'll bare that in mind' should actually be 'bear'. I have edited that. **

**Also an eagle eyed reviewer pointed out that Blaines dad said 'door stays open' in front of Kurt which could tip him off he's gay. There is a reason for it which will come to light, but my computer crashed last week as I wrote chapter 6 and I forgot to get Kurt to mention it so it wasn't as obvious as intended. That is edited too now.**

**There are no excuses other than laziness and a massive workload (i write for an online marketing company) so my eye gets lazy when proofing. My bad. **

**Disclaimer: I own nothing. Well, I do own SOMETHING but I don't own Glee. Boo.**

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Seven<strong>

To Glee club or not to Glee club? The question is taken out of my hands with a forceful nudge. It's now been a month since I arrived at McKinley, and I've spent a fair amount of that time, considering the; if's buts and maybe's of joining the most slushied club in the school. Yes, I now understand what that is. It's hard not to when you're walking to Chemistry on Monday afternoon with Mercedes one minute, laughing and chatting amiably, and the next your staring open mouthed at a now dripping wet girl with purple ice and syrup oozing down her face.

"Looking good, Jones, you missed a spot!" Azimio hollers as he marches away.

Mercedes wipes her eyes and examines her fingers with a look of disgust. "Ah, hell to the no. Purple? Last time I got this one, it took a week to get it out of my skin properly. Even the spa Kurt took me to didn't help the stains behind my ears."

I haven't said a word, too shocked. I've heard all the Glee guys talk about it, but I hadn't actually witnessed a 'slushie facial' as Kurt calls it until now. The irony being, from what I've heard, Kurt gets the brunt of them and he's the one I spend the most time with.

"Are you okay?" I ask gingerly, and wipe a particularly large chunk of ice from her cheek.

"No, my eyes hurt." I'd figured as much from the way she squint's her eyes and wipes at them.

I look around me for the nearest bathroom and spot it just a little down the hall on the left hand side. "Come on." I take her hand and lead the way, fishing my cell out to send a quick text to Kurt.

_Mercedes just been slushied. Purple. We're in the nearest girl's b-room to the chem lab – Blaine_

My phone buzzes just as I guide her inside the bathroom. She walks over to the sinks and turns the tap as I read;

_Damn, that one's a bitch. Be right there – K_

"Kurt's on his way," I reassure her and watch as she pulls a towel and a wash cloth out of her bag and proceeds to rinse it. "You bring supplies to school?" I wonder aloud.

Her smile is wry when she peeks through the mirror at me with one eye closed and the other watering. "First rule of Glee club – bring stuff to clean up with."

"How do you guys put up with it though?" I lean against the wall beside her and fold my arms.

I look around the bathroom, uncomfortable with the setting of this conversation, which is odd. I spent more time in the female toilets than I did the male ones at my old school. It was the only place Peter and the other guys couldn't get to me. I suppose I'm uncomfortable because it isn't Jade I'm having this conversation with. It doesn't feel the same. Much as I'm starting to love Mercedes. Plus my old school used to be boys only and was converted into a co-ed one not long before I attended. Apparently they didn't have the budget to take the urinals out, so it felt like I was in the guys' toilets anyway. In here though? Not a urinal in sight.

Mercedes face disappears into her fluffy towel and mumbles through it. "You get used to it."

The towel falls away from her face and she sighs in relief, I assume because she no longer drips. However purple stains streak across her face and remind me of bruising. I shudder. If she sees she doesn't comment.

"Plus, for risk of sounding like a character from High School Musical, we all support each other and are in this together. It makes it so much easier. And we all love to sing and dance so… for the record I still think you should join. I know this isn't exactly a glowing representation of what it can be like in Glee, but it's worth it." She gives me a knowing look.

I nod and open my mouth to respond when the door bangs open and Kurt bustles in. He settles his determined gaze on Mercedes and snorts. "Oh god, you look like you've been attacked by Barney."

"Ha – ha," Mercedes deadpans.

"_Isn't he funny,_

_isn't he wonderful_," she sings,

"_my gay boys precious,_

_his jokes are getting old."_

Her eyes are narrowed to slits. Only the smirk alerts me to the fact there's no malice behind her reinvention of, Isn't she Lovely. I smile in appreciation of her voice.

"Shouldn't you be in Biology?" she says as Kurt takes the wash cloth from her and rinses under the tap.

"Technically," he replies then turns to me. "I've got it from here, Blaine. You better go tell your teacher where Mercedes is." He smiles warmly and I nod, happy to leave the situation to the expert.

"Thanks Blaine," Mercedes says over her shoulder.

I wave feebly and leave.

Mercedes walks back into chemistry looking more herself than Barney thank goodness, but I can still see the stains on her jeans and around the back of her neck. Her hair is wet from Kurt rinsing away remnants of the slushie.

* * *

><p>For the next few days I spend a lot of time in deliberation. Should join Glee club? Mercedes hint on Monday was far from the first time she's tried and she isn't the only member giving it a go. Santana has taken to listing the possibilities of songs she could sing to me. Or rather I could sing to her, like on Tuesday Lunch hour.<p>

"Do you think I'm sexy, is a must or maybe you could sing the Thong Song to me. You can totally see my thong if you want," she purrs, "but it's more fun if you beg for it in song."

"Uh huh."

"There's no way you are singing a song for me outside of that choir room though so you're going to have to join Glee club."

"Right," I respond absently, my eyes fixed on Kurt who has Brittney on his lap braiding her hair. He runs his hands through it in gentle strokes to release any tangles before he wraps three sections together neatly. Images of him doing that to me (not the braiding, the fingers through my hair bit) cross my mind and I shake them away in confusion. It has evidently been way to long since someone's given me a head massage.

It's not that I don't want to join. Kurt talks about it all the time, and let's face it; I don't have a friend in this entire school who isn't in the Glee club. The problem is I don't know if I still enjoy singing in public. I haven't done it really since the first semester of middle school, and my last time it … well it didn't go well.

It's Wednesday when my mind is made up for me. I'm so hungry on my walk toward the cafeteria, but the sight of Brittney with her head against her locker, face glum, makes me pause. I pat her shoulder with hesitance and frown at the patches of dirt smudged across her cheek and the dust all over her Cheerios uniform.

"You okay Brit?"

She doesn't look at me. Instead she mumbles into the metal, "I can't find Lord Tubbington. I shrunk him and put him in my locker because Mom got mad he ate the leftover food from last night's dinner. But now he's disappeared. I've looked in all his favorite places - the bathrooms, the janitor's closet, the vents - but he's not there."

"Oh." I thought my interactions with Brittney would become easier the more I spoke to her, but lately I've come to realize that she will baffle me no matter what. I look her over from her dirty white sneakers, and up to her dirt smudged face and deduce the dust is from the vents. "Okay first things first, who is Lord Tubbington?"

"My cat."

"Right," I run a hand through my curls that are more unruly than ever – I need a haircut – and take her hand in mine. "I'm going to take you to find Santana, okay? She'll know better than me where to look for Lord Tubbington. Come with me sweetie."

She wipes her nose and follows me down the corridor. "Are you going to join Glee club?" she asks. "You're nice. I could tell you all about his adventures there."

Jeeze these guys are on a mission to get me in the club, aren't they?

"You can tell me at Lunch," I say kindly, "And you're in my English class too, you can pair up with me for the project and then you can tell me everything."

"Or you could join Cheerios," she says.

I refrain from a snort there. "I'm not much of a dancer," I say.

"That's okay, I'll teach you-"

Whoosh! It happens so quickly I don't even register it at first. Just the hard sting of freezing cold liquid knifing at my forehead and the worst case of brain freeze I have ever experienced. Blind, I wipe at my dripping wet face. A hand fists the scruff of my neck and pins me to a locker. I wince, but don't dare open my eyes.

"You've had that coming a while, Hobbit," a familiar snarl says in my ear. Karofsky, the voice in my head supplies. "That's for getting in the way of my business with Hummel the other week and getting me suspended. Do it again and you'll be greeted with one of these every – single – day. Got it, pretty boy?"

"Stop the violence," Brittney's soft voice says from my left.

"Yeah, yeah, Blondie, I'm going. Later, Hobbit." He releases me and I hear his feet walk away.

I wipe my face and rub at my eyes. Oh my god my eyes hurt!

"We're by a fountain," Brittney says in a helpful tone.

She steers me somewhere or other and I'm jostled from every side by passersby, but I don't care, my concentration on the cold chunk of slush that ooze a cold trail down my sensitive spine. A delicate hand pushes my head back to face the ceiling and the whir of the drinking fountain sounds in front of me before water trickles over my eyes and fingers wipe around them and over my eyelids. I open them blearily and discover the sting has subsided, the culprit having been washed away. I turn to thank Brittney only to be met with the sight of not Brittney, but Kurt's concern filled blue eyes.

"Hey where did Brit go?" I ask. He nods over his shoulder and I see her stood over the corridor, watching me from an embrace with Santana, tears in her eyes.

"She looked pretty upset so I got Santana to steer her away and comfort her."

I nod. "Thanks."

"Come with me."

"Is he in Glee club now" Brittney says as we pass. "I mean he's been slushied now?" She looks to Santana in confusion.

She pats her awkwardly and gives me a wink, "The Smurf look rocks harder than the Hobbit one anyway," she says. I assume that's meant to be reassuring.

"She's lost Lord Tubbington," I inform her walking backwards so I can still look at the two. Santana rolls her eyes but I see the affection behind it.

Kurt hasn't stopped walking so I catch up with him, and don't care about the stares or the trail of blue dyed water that I leave as I go. There's something about the feel of colored ice that drips down your face, and down your already sensitive back that makes you think, you know what, screw it. Brittney is right. I've already been slushied. Clearly I'm seen as un-cool here and I haven't sung for leisure seriously in too long.

"Kurt," I say as we walk.

"Mmmm?"

"I'm in. I'll join Glee club."

Kurt raises an eyebrow at me. "If I'd known all it took was a slushie to get you to join I would have done it weeks ago."

I smirk. "Hindsight's a bitch."

* * *

><p>That afternoon I sit on my bed and try to stifle my jittery nerves. Tomorrow will be my first time in Glee club. As much conviction as I had earlier, I think it was washed away with the residue of blue dye and ice. What am I thinking? I can't perform anymore. Sure, Kurt's heard me sing the Spice Girls in my room, but aside from that I haven't let anyone hear me in forever.<p>

What if I suck now? My voice hadn't broken yet the last time I performed, and an excited Tina informed me earlier that Mr. Shue likes everyone to 'audition'. Although from what I can gather everyone who's ever wanted to join New Directions has got in.

What will I sing? What suits my voice now? What kind of songs do they want to hear? Will they laugh? Will they cringe? Will history repeat itself? Oh god, who knew Glee club, could cause mental breakdowns? They should put a hazard warning on the signup sheet. There wasn't one. I checked when Kurt showed me it on the bulletin board and handed me a pen so I couldn't back out.

I'm so engrossed in my thoughts that I don't hear my name at first. But then a much louder;

"Blaine?" calls through my open window (I've taken to keeping it open even though the weathers getting colder in case he wants to chat) and the crack in his voice causes me to jump off of my bed and peak around my new curtains.

He's leaning a little bit out of his open window and my eyebrows furrow at his red and puffy eyes.

"What's wrong?" I ask.

"Can I come over?" he replies. His voice is chocked and hoarse, and I want to hurt whoever it is that has turned his sweet soft voice from a melodious whisper to a downtrodden gasp.

"Of course; Mom and Dad aren't back yet."

He nods and leaves his room. I make my way downstairs, dread settled in my stomach with every step. My front doors open to welcome him before he makes it up the driveway, and I don't care what kind of act I'm meant to put on for the neighbors sake; the limp of his step, the hunched shoulders and defeated but faraway expression on his normally so careful and guarded face is enough to open my arms to him, and without the moment's hesitation I expect he walks straight into them and clamps his hands together around my waist. I breathe in his scent; vanilla and something flowery. I've never been this close to him before and I lean my head against his when it drops to my shoulder. He draws in a shuddering breath and I maneuver us inside the door and shut it.

"Do you want something to drink?" I mumble into his hair.

He shakes his head, so I break the embrace and take his hand in mine. The flutter in my stomach is hard to ignore during our trek up the stairs and to my room, hoping beyond hope, that Saffron who pretends she isn't watching from the sofa has the tact to leave us alone. With the door shut behind us I allow him to perch on the end of my bed, and clamber on myself to face him, my legs crossed.

I wait. I know from experience that most people don't like to be pressured into revealing their problems. Actually I learnt that one from myself. When five minutes has passed and he still stares at my floor, I try a different tact.

"I um, I don't know what you need right now, is it a friendly ear or do you just want to watch a movie or something?"

He settles his watery gaze on me and opens his mouth again and then again. Then with a wipe of the nose and a tilt of the head he sniffs and says, "I'm really sorry. Normally I'd go to Mercedes, but I don't feel like this is something I can tell her. It's too sensitive." He takes a shuddering breath. "It's Karofsky."

I dip my head to the side. Of course it's Karofsky. Kurt shudders and I squeeze his knee. That was the only comfort my Dad knows how to give, and it always made me feel better, although I'm not sure if it has more to do with being comforting, or any gesture at all from him will do.

"He slammed me again and I – I saw red. I got so mad and I … I ran after him, into the locker room." Kurt gulps thickly.

I wince at the thought. I hate locker rooms.

"I was screaming at him because I just don't understand what his problem is. I'm so sick of it. It's been happening since forever really in this school, but it's escalated. You've not been here a month and you know that. You're the only person who seems to notice. I demanded to know why he does it and I insulted him and he told me to get out of his face but I couldn't stop and then he – he …"

I squeeze his hand, breath baited.

"He kissed me."

I freeze, shoulders hunched and stiff. Of all the things I expected him to say, that wasn't it. Beaten? Yes. Verbally abused? Hell yes. Kissed? As Mercedes seems to be fond of saying – hell to the no.

"He kissed you?"

His face screws up and another sob tears its way from his throat.

"Oh my god, he's …" That sentence seems so ridiculous I can't even let it slip from my mouth.

"I don't know," he sobs. "He just grabbed my face and kissed me and I was so shocked I just stared at him. And then he tried again but I shoved him off and … he got mad, punched a locker and left."

I scrape my hand through my hair, lost for words. "Shit," I settle on. For it seems the only appropriate word to describe the overload of questions and emotions that course through me right now.

"I don't know what to do, Blaine. I can't tell anyone he did it without outing him, and I'm sorry but I refuse to do that. I'm not gonna do it to you, and I won't to him."

"No," I agree quietly. "No, you can't out him. I know what that's like … it's not something to be taken lightly."

Kurt eyebrows rise at that. "That's happened to you before?"

I shift awkwardly. "My last school."

He nods and I expect him to press the matter, but he doesn't. I really ought to have more faith in him.

"What can I do?" he asks timidly. He's scrunched his long legs up against his chest, his arms wound tight around them.

I settle my back against the wall, with my legs spread out in front of me on the duvet. "Well, we're not going to 'out' him, and we can't tell a teacher. Technically he didn't hit you that time. We can tell someone about the locker slams but-"

"No," Kurt says abruptly. "The faculty doesn't care. Not even Mr. Shue."

I'm not sure I agree with that sentiment but I don't question it. "What about that guidance councilor?"

"Miss Pilsbury? No. No I … I actually haven't been able to look her in the face ever since I got drunk at school and threw up on her shoes."

I gape at him.

He lowers his forehead to his knee to hide his cheeks. "Long story. One I regret actually … her shoes were nice."

I allow myself a smile at the joke. Or maybe it's not a joke, I can't tell. Either way it sounds more like the real Kurt, and less like this shell I've been speaking to for the last ten minutes.

"How about, we take time to think about what we should do, and in the mean time cheer you up. We can pop in a movie. I've got popcorn downstairs."

He smiles. "Sounds good."

"Awesome. You choose. I'll be right back."

I head downstairs and into the kitchen, lost in thought. I feel so bad for him. Its one thing being thrown against lockers and threatened, it's another thing entirely having someone force himself on you. And if he's as inexperienced as I suspect he is, this could scare him off intimacy for a long time after. I chew on my bottom lip in agitation. I don't know what to do for him except cheer him up. I'm not ready to share my experience with him, although things slip out with ease around Kurt. I need a filter, because I've alluded to so many things already.

I've just put the popcorn in the microwave when a throat clears behind me.

"Hey Mom. When did you get home?"

She approaches and leans on the counter. "Saff says Kurt's over and seemed upset. Is he okay?"

I nod. "Problems at school."

"You two seem close," she muses.

Ah, the heated cheeks are back. I turn back to watch the bag of popcorn twirl round and round in the microwave. "He's my friend, Mom."

"Be careful, Blaine."

My eyebrows knit together in confusion. "Why?"

"You've only known this guy for three weeks … what if he's another Peter?"

I wince at her careless use of his name. "Four weeks actually - and no he's not," I say shortly. "Not every person I meet is going to be like him."

She sighs and massages her forehead between her eyebrows with a delicate long finger. "You like him."

Ding. I open the microwave and gingerly open the hot bag and pour the contents into a waiting bowl.

"I'm not sure I like him," she carries on honestly when I don't respond. "I don't think he'd be right for you. He is gay isn't he?"

I don't answer. My lips are drawing thinner and thinner with every word. How the hell would she know if he's right for me or not? Is she in my head? Not that I like him.

"Saffron thinks he likes you too," she reveals.

"She's thought _that_ before." My tone is cold.

"Hey! I thought you said you wouldn't ever bring that up again. She said she was sorry," she says sternly.

My hand tightens on the bowl. "Mom, I'm not still mad at her if that's what you think. I got over that. It's done. I'm just a bit uptight because Kurt's having problems that hit a little close to home and now you're trying to make me think of more, and I can only handle his and my problems separately, so back off, please."

I brush past her and back up the stairs.

"I chose the little mermaid," Kurt says when I walk into my room.

I grin, easily slipping from my sour mood into a lighter one. Kurt has that effect on me a lot, I've noticed. "Man after my own heart."

I catch an indiscernible look in his eyes, and he looks down and bites his lip. Confused by what I've just said to get that reaction, I look at the TV. The menu is already onscreen. I press play and we snuggle down on my bed which Kurt has rearranged so the four pillows are at the end. Facing the TV.

"Thanks for this," he says as Ariel's sisters begin their performance.

I smile and settle myself closer to him. I know I shouldn't. Mom's thoughts about Kurt repeat in my head all through the film, but I haven't been this close to someone since I left New Jersey. And I like the way my side tingles every time he shifts against it and my heart speeds up. What's wrong with wanting to feel like that?

His head falls to rest on my shoulder just as Eric finds Ariel on the beach, and my breath shallows. The only people who have ever done this to me were girls; Jade, my sister, Annabelle Flint from across the street when we were eight. Never a boy, much as I craved it. Even Matt wasn't keen on the idea.

"I couldn't do that," Kurt says softly, paying no heed to his position.

"What?" I try and keep my voice even.

"Give my voice up for a guy. I know it seems kind of romantic but if you read the actual story by Hans Christian Anderson, it's really not."

"She dies," I remember, "and is in pain the whole time."

"And he falls in love with another girl, even though she's right there and has sacrificed her life for him." Kurt chews on his popcorn eyes glued to the screen.

"…So she says goodbye when her time is up and throws herself to the sea, to become nothing but the foam in the waves," I sum up. "It's more realistic I suppose. Poetic."

"More depressing," he deadpans. "So Shakespearean."

"His comedies weren't depressing."

"That's because they were meant to be _funny_ Blaine," Kurt snarks. I smile, happy his humor is back. "I couldn't say goodbye to my friends and family and risk losing my voice on something that's left to chance. I love to sing too much. I love my Dad."

"I don't know it depends on the situation. I mean her Dad did kind of push her away by destroying what she loved."

Kurt lifts his head off my shoulder. "Yeah but that's a pretty flimsy excuse, and what about the guy? He's dragged into this weird situation where he gets mind controlled by an octopus and falls in love with a woman with a tail."

"I like to think he found it romantic in a morbid way," I say.

He snorts. "I better write that down. Blaine Anderson: Hopeless romantic."

"Oh fine, tease me. Aren't you?"

Kurt's smile dims. "I was until about four hours ago," he whispers, and his eyes fill with tears again.

"Hey, hey shhhh, what's this about?" I press pause on the movie and swipe a tear from his cheek with my thumb.

He sniffs and wipes his eyes. "Sorry it's just. All these movies put such an emphasis on the first kiss and how important it is. It's supposed to be powerful enough to break a spell for god's sake. And the only kisses I've ever experienced were either forced upon me or an experiment to keep my Dad happy."

He buries his head into the pillow in front of him. I shift awkwardly. I have no idea what I can say to make him feel better so I lay my hand on his shoulder blade and rub it lightly through the material of his designer shirt. He trembles beneath my touch and it hurts to know Karofsky stole something so precious from him, something that could leave him in this state afterward. I want to march up to him and punch him in the face. Part of me wants to let him know just how it feels to be 'outed' while you're in school and humiliated, but even thinking it makes me feel sick. I couldn't do it to him no matter how angry I am. I'd be just like them, like Peter Lance, like the school staff that did nothing to help me.

"He was your first kiss wasn't he?" I whisper, as a cold comprehension settles below my navel, heavy and unwelcome.

He nods, and mumbles through the pillow, "The only one that counted."

I cock my head in sympathy. "If it'll make you feel better, my first kiss wasn't all that," I say, my hand still rubs circles in his back.

He looks up at me with watery eyes. "Really?"

"I thought it was at the time, but it really wasn't. He wasn't," I say bitterly.

"I'm sorry," he says.

I shake my head. "Don't be. The way I see it, my first kiss wasn't the one that counts, because it wasn't special. Someday you and I will both find someone who it will feel right to kiss, and that will be the one that will prove all the Disney films right. That might make you feel like you could understand Ariel's point of view again."

"That's an incredibly naïve thing to say," Kurt mumbles not unkindly.

"Hopeless romantic," I whisper, unable to look away from his big eyes that have changed to a light green in the light of the frozen DVD screen.

It's like I've got something on my face the way Kurt stares back at me. Like he's never noticed it before, and he's committing it to memory.

"What?" I lift my hand to my cheek and press it, self consciously.

"Nothing," he says. His eyes don't leave mine. "I guess it's just nice to know someone who sees things in a similar way to me."

I smile. "Well uh, if you ever need reminding of this way of thinking, give me a call," I quip, halfheartedly.

He does something I'll never forget in that moment, in all his upset, and emotional turmoil towards the idea … he kisses me on the cheek. It's a brief peck, nothing pornographic or noteworthy on Brittney, Santana or even Pucks scale of kissing, but it sends blood flooding around my body like a warm tidal wave aided by the frantic beat of my heart against my ribcage. He blushes prettily and takes the remote control from me to put the movie back on and turns away.

"What was that for?" my voice is hoarse.

He keeps his eyes on the screen. "For being there for me and I just …" he has a battle with himself that is visible in his greenish eyes. "I've never done that to a boy before, and I wanted to see what it was like so I just … did it."

I rest my chin down on my pillow in awe. Kurt just kissed me. Okay so it's on the cheek but still he kissed me … and now my insides feel like they are dancing the salsa or something else Latin American. Everything comes together in my mind in perfect clarity, all the times I've questioned my actions towards this boy, the fact I hated him not speaking to me within a minute of meeting him, the way I stood between him and a bully double my size, the chats, the obsession with listening to him sing, the blushes, the need to join Glee club, the obsession with skin tight jeans my sister inflicted on my brain. It's all about him.

I think I'm falling for him. In a town, where everyone thinks I'm straight.

Well that's … inconvenient.

**A/N I've got a lot on next week at work so I'll try and update before then but to be honest with you, the last thing I want to do after writing to important deadlines at work is write when I get home sometimes, so I apologise in advance if the next update takes a while. I'll try not to be lazy.**

**Stay beautiful lovelies and reviews are always welcome and appreciated. Good or bad :) how else will I learn?**


	8. Stage Fright

**A/N: Hello my lovely readers, old and new. I am so sorry this took over a week to arrive. Long story short: work was mad and I was working late every night, living on coffee, diet coke, microwave meals and very little sleep thanks to an annoying campaign at work that has finally ended.**

**I have no idea whether this is any good because my brain is fried right now from lack of sleep, but hopefully it doesn't disappoint. I realise a lot of the writing lately may seem a little rough. I plan to go back and edit in places to make it less clunky/ disjointed in some areas. Times not been my friend the last few weeks.**

**Thank you for the amazing reviews. You guys make me feel warm and fuzzy inside everytime I get yelled at by my boss for abysmal writing at work so thank you for being so nice and enouraging :)**

**on with the story. Enjoy.**

**Disclaimer: Don't own it. Sad truth.**

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Eight<strong>

I'm a freaky stalker who can't control himself.

Surely it can't be right that I'm staring, even though he is no longer in my room, and has no clue I observe him. It's 10.34pm. Kurt left my room after our talk and movie marathon a mere two hours ago, and I'm sat in a shroud of darkness, on my window seat, concealed behind my blue curtains, watching, like I haven't just spent time with him, like I'm some kind of weirdo who has no sense of boundaries or privacy, like I've never seen him before. Not properly anyhow, and despite my inner monologue of disgust at my voyeuristic observations, I wouldn't have it any other way.

Okay, that's not true. If I had it my way I'd be over there with him, up close, where he'll know exactly what I'm doing. And he'd shiver at the look in my eye and – oh god I need to stop thinking.

He's sat at his desk, textbook laid forgotten, as he stares into space with his pen twirling between his nimble fingers. I'm fascinated by the dreamy look in his eyes. To think I moaned about having a room at the side of the house.

I sigh, and lean back against the wall. I guess the problem with the realization of feelings towards another person is this undeniable need to be around that person as much as possible.

I need to sleep. Concentrate on what I'm going to sing tomorrow.

Kurt drags a hand through his hair and messes it up, and I yearn to be the hand that causes his normally perfect coiffed hair to stick up at all ends like that.

It's adorable. He is adorable.

I'm so engrossed in him that I don't hear my door open, or the person sneak in, I don't realize anyone is behind me until a snigger raises the hairs on the back of my neck. I spin to be met with the view of my own large hazel eyes; bright orbs of amusement and caution. Except they aren't mine, they are Saffron's.

"What are doing in here?" I hiss. My eyes pass over her hand and I frown at the flash of metal I spot. "And more importantly, why the hell do you have a camera with you?"

She shrugs. "I came in to film you asleep so I could use what you say in your sleep as blackmail footage, but this is loads better," she whispers.

I scowl. "I don't talk in my sleep."

"You snore too." She pays me no heed and peers out the window. "Spying on our neighbors? That's not creepy at all?"

I glare at the red light on the camera and try to snatch it from her grasp, but she dances away, and aims the camera at the window.

"You do realize the room is dark, don't you?" I point out.

"You do realize this camera has night mode, don't you?" she counters, eyes on the screen. "Ah, the fair prince is at his window," she says dramatically. "How very Romeo and Juliet of you," she says dryly. "Have you seen that movie about a teenage boy living next door to a porn star?" Her eyes grow wide as saucers. "Oh my god, do you watch him get naked?"

"What? No!" My voice is higher than I expected, and it occurs to me it's a sign of guilt in most circumstances. I've never been more thankful for darkness concealing my cheeks.

"No judgment big bro," she shushes and cocks her head to the side. "I wondered why you never leave your room or come and talk to me anymore. Mystery solved." Her tone is light, but I hear the undercurrent of resentment.

I roll my eyes at her. "Saff-"

"-I'm not angry," she says with a smile that doesn't reach her eyes. "I just – it would be nice if you would come talk to me every once in a while, that's all. But if you're busy spying on Skin-Tight-Jeans then who am I to get in the way?"

I groan. She's such a little minx. The main issue with my little sister is she's lived with me long enough to know which buttons to press to make me feel whatever she wants me too. Right now it's guilt.

"I figured you'd be with your new friends," I say honestly. She's always out cheerleading or something.

"Right yeah, of course … but I still like Blaine time."

I rub my tired eyes. I need my bed. "I'll hang out with you soon, I promise."

She nods eagerly and switches the camera off. "What about tomorrow?"

"Ooh I can't," I say regretfully. "I've got my first day of Glee club after school and then Kurt and I are going to get coffee to either celebrate or mourn my slow and musical death. Which reminds me, can you get home yourself tomorrow?"

Her smile falters. "Oh … sure," she says and glances out the window again. "I'll uh, walk."

My eyebrows furrow. "I meant like catch the bus or something."

She ignores me. "What about Friday then?"

"Santana's making me pay for her meal at Breadsticks," I say.

"Santana? Wait do you have a … Girlfriend?" she says, lip curled up in disgust.

"She sure thinks she is." I rest my head on my knee in thought. "She never even asked me out."

She shakes her head at me wearily. "Thank god you're gay Blaine, because you don't get women, at all." I open my mouth to protest but she carries on her original line of questioning. "Saturday?"

"Shopping trip with Kurt, Mercedes and Tina. Apparently I'm overdue a style makeover." I smile at the conversation last week. Kurt was debating whether the long curls were too Lord of the Rings to be cute anymore.

She narrows her eyes. "I like your style. Who says you need to change?"

I shrug. "Kurt wants to show me what I can look good in. I'm free Sunday?"

Saffron turns to me with a hopeful glint in her eye. "That's ages away," she wines. "Deal."

I ruffle her hair before she can leap away and she waves and leaves, camera in hand. I sigh and give Kurt one last wistful look before I retreat to my bed. I have a feeling I know what I'm going to dream about tonight.

* * *

><p>I feel like I'm perched on the precipice of success or failure as I sit in the seat Kurt indicates to me. In a short while I'm going to sing in front of the Glee club, my first public performance since middle school. I close my eyes and shudder at the memory; a younger version of me stood in the old auditorium in front of the whole school, frozen in fear as Peter Lance stands centre stage and addresses the crowd before us.<p>

I blink out of it with force, and aim my head down to my lap so Kurt won't see the fear I know is reflected in my eyes, and for the 112th time question whether this is a good idea.

I moisten my dry throat and look around the room for a distraction. The choir room is small, I note, with very little in it; a piano, a drum kit and several other instruments, chairs haphazardly clustered together at the back and a white board. I'm confused by the two doors; the room seems too small for two entrances.

Kurt takes the seat next to me and crosses his right leg elegantly over the other, posture poised as usual, at ease in his environment. I poke my finger through the hole in the sleeve of my sweater and try not to notice the curious looks of the other Glee clubbers. I'm acquainted with most of them now, but I wouldn't say I'm close to anyone besides Mercedes, Tina, Brittney and Santana. I don't think I've said two words to Puck who made a recent return from Juvie, and the most I normally get out of Finn is a 'Hey Dude'.

"Will you please relax and stop manhandling your clothing," Kurt says and pulls my hand away from my already ruined sleeve. "I can't handle you mistreating your clothes out of nerves. There's no excuse."

I roll my eyes and slouch down. The clock is after three already. We're just waiting on Mr. Shue.

"You'll be fine," Kurt says with confidence. I'd appreciate it if he'd pass me some.

"You don't know that. You haven't even heard me sing," I remind him.

"Yes I have."

"The Spice Girls don't count. It was more like a chant."

He shakes his head and bites back a retort. It's only when he turns his raised chin away from me to say something to Mercedes that I realize he still holds the hand he took away from my sleeve. I don't think he's even realized. I stare at it in wonder. And test the weight and feel of it in my own hand. It's pleasant. The pressure causes a nice tingle in my palm and I jump a little when his thumb unconsciously rubs over the back of mine. I try to ignore the quickened pace of my breath and squeeze it in recognition. Kurt looks back at me in surprise and upon realizing where his hand is, let's go with an inconspicuous look around at the others.

They hadn't noticed.

I understand his reaction. I'm 'straight'. If they saw they'd be a little suspicious. That doesn't alleviate the disappointment that settles in my stomach with the loss of contact.

"Alright guys!" Mr Shue struts in and rubs his hands together "I have in my hand, our competition for sectionals."

A murmur titters around the room.

"I realize we're finding out a little later than last year, but there were a few issues down the line. Drum rolls please, Finn."

Finn who is sat at the drum kit in the right hand corner does so.

"First up are the Hipsters. They are a glee club made up entirely of elderly people taking their high school tests."

"How are we supposed to compete against a bunch of adorable old people?" Mercedes voices my own thoughts.

"Are you kidding? Brittle bones. One good luck pat in the rear and you'll shatter their pelvis," Puck says from the back.

I turn around in surprise at the comment. Although I guess I shouldn't really be surprised. It is Puck. Kurt says he's … a tough guy sort, maybe it's just like him to sabotage a bunch of old people. Or so I'm guessing. I don't know the guy, after all.

"Settle down." Mr. Shue says. The others quiet enough to hear him continue. "And finally we will also go up against the Warblers from the all boys private school, Dalton Academy in Westerville."

"There are schools with all boys there?" Brittney says in amazement.

"Hold up, like a million awesome gay jokes popped into my head just now," Santana added.

Kurt turns to glare at her, but she ignores it.

"Sectionals are in two weeks guys, we need to decide what our set list is going to be," Rachel pops up from her chair and walks to the front, hand on hip. "Now I already have the perfect ballad for Finn and I to sing, but of course all of your input for the harmonies behind us is just as important for this team to win, so-"

"Sure Rachel, because Mr. Shue is so going to listen to what any of us want to sing," Kurt says, tone dripping in sarcasm.

Mr. Shue opens his mouth in indignation but Kurt cuts over him. "And seeing as you are as inattentive as ever about anything that goes on here-"

"-Kurt," Mr. Shue warns.

"-I thought it might be a good idea to point out that there is a new person sat in this choir room you are yet to notice." Kurt folds his arms over his chest, superior eyebrow raised at Mr. Shue.

The teacher has the good grace to look abashed and embarrassed when his eyes finally settle on me. "Oh, I'm so sorry. Blaine? Are you joining us?"

Self conscious of the many eyes of the Glee club on the back of my head, I nod at my lap.

"Great. I'm sure you'll fit right in," he says kindly. "Every member has auditioned though so I think it would be a good idea for you, in your own time of course, to show us what you've got."

"Now?" My eyes widen in alarm. I thought he'd give a little more of an introduction before he threw me to the sharks.

"If you're ready. If not we can wait."

I sigh in a relief but it's short lived when Kurt pipes up. "He'll go now."

He drags me up from my seat and I'm propelled forwards with a gentle and insistent push. I stumble over my converse and turn to face the others and in that moment I'm thirteen again, lights point at me and I'm frozen, terrified of humiliation. My throat closes up and I can feel a panic attack building in my chest. I open my mouth to say something but I can't utter a sound. All eyes are on me. Me. Expectant. Waiting.

I catch Kurt's concerned eye and he gives me an encouraging but confused smile. It doesn't reassure me.

I take a deep breath and whisper my song choice in the bearded guys, Brad I think Kurt called him, ear and the piano sounds behind me followed by the band at the side. When did they come in? Okay so this is very real now.

The sudden taste of coppery blood distracts me for a moment and I realize my teeth have gnawed at my bottom lip the point of skin breakage. The introduction comes and goes and I understand I've missed my cue. The band stops and turns to me in confusion.

"Sorry," I mumble and nod for them to start again.

The introduction is struck up again and my heart immediately hammers in my chest like a countdown to the first words – the first words that don't leave my open mouth.

"Dude, are you going to sing or what?" Puck says and yelps when Santana digs her fingernails into his crotch. I look at Mercedes in distress hopeful that she'll be some bolt of inspiration for me but the only emotion I catch in her eyes is worry and it reminds me of my own anxiety.

The band and Brad stop and look to me for instruction. A titter of voices catch my attention and I realize Brittney is smiling at me as she always does, the blonde who was knocked up last year appears bored, leant forward on her knees, eyes to the floor and Rachel is shaking her head in exasperation. The rest just look confused, skeptical or sympathetic. I rub my forehead and mumble an apology to Mr. Shue, a hand waves to the band again. They count themselves in and … my throat closes up.

"Is everything okay?" Mr. Shue stands from his seat and I take a step back.

"Fine I-"

I catch Kurt's eye again and that's when I know this was a mistake. I can't be in Glee. He doesn't look mad, or sad or sympathetic. He just looks thoughtful, and thought leads to questions and questions lead to rifts between friends when one doesn't want to tell the other what's going on, and I can't do this and I need air but there's some weird lack of oxygen in the room, and I need to leave and-

"Blaine?"

I bolt from the room. I don't even know where my feet are taking me until I burst through a red door, and my reflection stares back at me from the wall. The chemistry toilets - the girls, I recognize. I have no interest in how I got here though, my attention on the ashen face before me. Eyes glisten with unshed tears and I wipe at them in frustration. I thought I was over this. I thought I would be okay. I'm with people who like me. It won't be like the last time.

But what if it is? Why does it feel exactly the same? It's like it only happened yesterday. The burning stage lights are on me, and their cruel faces – everyone I grew up with in elementary school, who came to my birthday parties, who I used to play tag with, they all laugh and howl and jeer and …

"Blaine?"

I hurtle into a cubicle and slam the door shut just as the door to the bathroom opens and Kurt's boots walk across to my closed door. He knocks three times.

"You okay?"

I don't answer.

He huffs out a breath. "Okay, stupid question, clearly you're not or you wouldn't have just ran like that," he says more to himself than anyone.

"You want to talk about it?"

I lift my feet up onto the toilet seat and curl into myself.

I see his shadow elongate and he sits on the floor next to my door. I cringe, half expectant that he'll peak under the door. He doesn't. "I'm sorry," he says. "I didn't know."

"Know what?" I croak.

"He speaks," he says lightly. "I didn't know you got stage fright. I've never had it myself so I forget sometimes that others aren't as … comfortable on stage."

I sniff and wipe my nose on the knee of my jeans.

"I'm sorry I pushed you. I'm serious when I say this – you need to learn to say no to me and tell me to shut up. When I get fixated on something I can't see any other outcome and I just … I thought you being in Glee would be this awesome thing we could have in common. Only I didn't consider your feelings on the matter. I thought you were just playing hard to get. It didn't really occur to me that you might have a good reason to not join."

His hand reaches under the cubicle and holds out to me in mid air. "Will you forgive me?"

I consider him for a few moments, and my hand tingles from the memory of his hand as it held mine not even twenty minutes ago. I liked that feeling. I maneuver myself onto the floor by the door and take his hand in mine.

"It's not your fault," I say.

He squeezes my hand and I hear the soft knock of his head coming to rest against the cubicle door. "You don't have to tell me why that happened if you don't want to, Blaine … but they won't judge you. Well, some of them will, but we're all losers in there. If they laugh at you, I'll kick their asses for you with my most bedazzled heel. I promise."

I choke back a laugh.

He chuckles too and we're silent for a few moments. "I wasn't kidding when I said I thought you could sing. I know it was just the Spice Girls, but you were still good. A little rough in places, but it's nothing practice won't cure."

I smile despite myself. I can't be bothered to argue with him on that point. I haven't listened to myself in a few years anyway. I have no idea if I can sing still.

"Sing for me."

The request is so abrupt I'm taken aback. I recover quick and force my eye away from his thumb that runs up and down my hand and look at the door in surprise. "Now?"

"It's just us. No one else is here. I won't laugh."

I dip my head in search for any other lurkers who might have followed Kurt in. We are alone.

"It's not that easy," I say.

"Why not?" His voice is soft. Non-judgmental.

Because I-" I squeeze my eyes shut and shift on the floor to a more comfortable position. He trusted me with the Karofsky secret. He's earned the right to know something about me. I take a deep breath. "Because the last time I got on a stage and sang, was the moment everyone found out I was gay," I say in one breath.

The other side of the door is silent. I'm unsure of what the silence means but I plough on anyway.

"There were rumors before then … but no proof. This guy at my old school, Peter Lance he – he'd known for a while that I was gay. He first mentioned it in public in the locker room after gym class when he accused me of peaking at him." I hear a light a just audible growl at my words from behind the door. Kurt squeezes my hand in reassurance. "And I was in the middle of singing in a school talent show when he came on stage and … and told everyone that the rumors were true. That I was gay and he had proof. And everyone laughed and booed me and taunted and the teachers made Peter get off the stage to let me finish the song but no one in the audience wanted to hear me anymore. The music carried on and I started to sing where I left off before Peters announcement but … it was like I was on America's Got Talent, and the judges buzzers were sounding above me and everyone was shouting 'off, off, off!' and calling me a fag and I just … I ran."

I rub my hand through my curls again. "I haven't been able to sing in public since."

Outside the cubicle, Kurt sniffles. I rest my head against the door of the cubicle and wait for him to respond.

"I'm so sorry," he says finally. It's not the words I want to hear. I don't want pity. I just want him to understand my problem. "But-"

"But?"

"But!" he says with more force. "But, you can't let some asshole from your past stop you from doing what you like to do. Do you think I'll leave Glee just because one Neanderthal football player has made it his mission to make my life a living hell? No. It's what I love to do."

"This is different," I choke out through my thick throat.

"No it's not. I saw your face every time I asked you to join Glee, Blaine. It was so … wistful. You wouldn't have agreed in the first place unless some part of you wanted to."

I release his hand and wipe the tears from my cheeks. "It's not that easy."

"Sing for me."

"I can't."

"Yes you can," he whispers. "I know you can." And there's something in his voice that makes me believe him. I take his hand back in mine and breathe in deep, eyes closed. I pretend I'm in my bedroom, alone and I push out the first few lines through the barrier in my throat.

"_You and me, we used to be together,  
>Everyday together always,"<em>

I rasp out through my sticky throat.

_"I really feel, that I'm losing my best friend,  
>I can't believe, this could be the end,<br>It looks as though you're letting go,  
>And if it's real, well I don't want to know."<em>

Confidence flows through me from my shoulders to my toes and I project my voice a little louder and stronger. The echo of the bathroom reverberates my voice back to me and I'm shocked by the rich tone of my voice;

_"Don't speak  
>I know just what you're saying<br>So please stop explaining  
>Don't tell me cause it hurts<br>Don't speak  
>I know what you're thinking<br>I don't need your reasons  
>Don't tell me cause it hurts."<br>_

And before I know what's happening I'm stood back in the choir room, Kurt stood a little to the side of me, with a bright light in his eyes as I sing my heart out to the club, sing out my emotions, every pent up feeling I've ever had since the talent contest. And they aren't laughing. In fact even Rachel looks impressed, much to Finns disgruntlement.

_"Our memories, well, they can be inviting,  
>But some are altogether, mighty frightening,<br>As we die, both you and I,  
>With my head in my hands, I sit and cry"<em>

I smile around at the members of the club, and fix my gaze on the least threatening of them – Brittney, whose eyes are alight in excitement as she sways along with the band and rests her head on Quinn's shoulder.

_"Don't speak_  
><em>I know just what you're saying<em>  
><em>So please stop explaining<em>  
><em>Don't tell me cause it hurts (no, no, no)<em>  
><em>Don't speak<em>  
><em>I know what you're thinking<em>  
><em>I don't need your reasons<em>  
><em>Don't tell me cause it hurts."<em>

It's now I'm up here that I know. Know that I want to be done with being scared of the Peter Lances of the world. I can't remember the last time I felt so free of inhibition.

_"It's all ending_  
><em>I gotta stop pretending who we are...<em>  
><em>You and me I can see us dying...are we?"<em>

I close my eyes and angle my head toward where I know Kurt is still stood. My voice lowers to barely above a whisper and I release the last few words of the song, with a burning disappointment its over that's overwhelmed by a pure sense of accomplishment.

_"Hush, hush darlin' Hush, hush darlin'  
>Hush, hush don't tell me tell me cause it hurts."<em>

My muscles relax; shoulders at ease for what feels like the first time in … forever really. I feel Kurt's gentle hand rest on my shoulder, and I barely register the tumultuous applause of the Glee club.

* * *

><p><strong>AN I can't be the only one who has always wanted Blaine to sing Don't Speak by No Doubt? I love that song so much and think Darren would be AMAZING!**

**Abrupt ending I know. Things are going to heat up between the two of them soon. **

**Blaine's explanation of his public coming out is only the tip of the iceberg which will be revealed in due course. **

**I assure you that scene with Saffron had a point. It wasn't there for randomness. **

**After some well overdue fluff and maybe some boy kisses you'll learn more about Blaine again. who knows. My chapters don't always go according to plan because Blaine and Kurt have other ideas sometimes but it could be the next chapter or the next or the next. **

**I love reviews if you'd be so inclined :)**

**Until next time.**


	9. The Warblers

**A/N Hello Beautiful readers. I am SO sorry for how long this update took to come. No excuses but a hectic work schedule, lack of sleep and an irritating case of writers block. I was going to post all I've written as one whole chapter but that would have taken longer, so I decided to split it instead because I've been so bad.**

**Back thank you's to my reviewers. I can't believe I'm 15 reviews away from 100. I wasn't expecting 10 reviews let alone this many so thank you so much for reading and commenting. I appreciate you all.**

**A reviewer (i forget who) asked me if I have a little sister because of how I write Blaine and Saffrons relationship. I don't sadly. I AM however the little sister to a brother 3 years my senior so their relationship is hardly a stretch for me :)**

**The beginning of this chapter is kind of in the future before it slips into present time again. The future which is at the end of chapter 10. Sorry if it confuses but as I said, this was originally going to be all 1 chapter.**

**I hope you like. There may be 1 or 2 typo's. if so sorry. I'm tired and writing this felt like getting water out of a stone at one point because of it.**

**ENJOY!**

**Disclaimer: I feel like stealing Glee, but I wont. I'm not that balsy or sneaky. Ryan Murphy owns. Boo.**

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Nine - The Warblers<strong>

I think I can safely call the past week the longest of my life. That includes the week my little sister was in the hospital after her appendix burst when I was twelve, or when I was fifteen and sat and waited for my Dad to wake up after a fight with the ominous Mr. Lance, Peters Dad.

As I look in at the dark window next door, I imagine he's staring into mine, somewhere in the shadows where I can't see him. Can he see me? I doubt it with my light out. Part of me thinks I'll never be able to look at him again after what just happened.

It all started the week after I joined Glee club with two words uttered by Puck.

"The Garglers."

"The Warblers," Kurt corrects him on Tuesday afternoon.

I look around the congregation of guys. Mr. Shue has set us an assignment. Boys versus girls. The winning team gets a meal at Breadsticks. I still don't understand the popularity of the place. Santana took me there only last week and I can honestly say, aside from the way they bring you an everlasting supply of the things, it's not all that hot.

"_Yeah the breadsticks are kind of stale, but my fuck buddy actually doesn't seem to get around to a whole lot of fucking with me. I have to suck on something," Santana had said with a feline pout in my direction. _

_I'd choked on my soda and blushed to the roots of my hair, horrified by the suggestive way she passed a breadstick between her lips and eased it in and out of her mouth. Before my eyes her face morphed into Kurt's and the vast majority of my blood rushed south. I crossed my legs. She must have noticed the shift because she smirked and bit the end off and chewed in self satisfaction. _

I blinked out of the memory just in time to hear Puck goad Kurt.

"Wouldn't Dalton be like your mother ship or something dude? Just find out what their preppy uniform is, dress up and go and spy on them. I hear it's like gay Hogwarts anyway. You'd fit right in."

I scowl in Pucks direction. I still haven't formed an opinion of him, but right now I'm leaning toward dislike.

"Fine."

I look up at Kurt in shock. He never, and I mean never gives up a fight for what he wants. Before I zoned out in fact he'd gone into detail on exactly how he thinks our performance as an impromptu boy group should go, complete with diagram and feathers.

My eyes follow as he walks with purpose out of the door, and I share a perplexed glance with Finn, who jabs his head in the direction of the door pointedly.

I sigh and follow after Kurt.

"What the hell was that?" I say as I reach him at his locker.

"What was what?" His eyes are on his hands as they shuffle through the books he'll need for his homework.

"The guys shut you down … and you just took it?" I raise a perplexed eyebrow at him.

"Well aren't you observant," Kurt mumbles and slams his locker shut.

"What's going on?" I grab his shoulder to keep him from moving and he hisses and flinches out of my grip. I lift my hand up in surrender and watch as he rubs at his shoulder, and tries to pass it off as a casual gesture.

"Nothing's going on," he says and turns to walk away from me. I rush past him and block his way.

"Karofsky did it again." It isn't a question. I watch his reaction closely.

He rolls his eyes and nods at his feet. "He never stopped," he admits. "It's just locker slams lately really."

My eyes narrow. I know he's lying. I know there is more to this than he lets on.

"I'll go with you to Dalton," I say.

He frowns at me. "Why?"

"Because we don't know what it's like there, and I always thought there was safety in numbers."

That was certainly the case at my last school. The safest groups were the jocks and cheerleaders, and anyone with a members list higher than five. I was in a three.

He smiles lightly at that. "Thanks but uh, seeing as it'll be trespassing on private property, I think it'll be less conspicuous if it's just me."

"Oh come on, it'll be fun. Besides I looked it up after Glee last week. Its two hours away. You'll need the company during the long drive," I reason.

He considers my words. I stick my bottom lip out and turn the puppy eyes my mom says are deadly, up to maximum.

"Please?"

Kurt worries his lip between his teeth, eyes wide and staring. I decide the flush of color in his cheeks is my imagination. The moment his eyes close in resignation, I know I've won.

"Fine. We'll skip tomorrow and go in the morning. With a bit of luck we might make it back for the last few periods." It doesn't escape my notice how his sullen mood has lifted at the prospect, and my heart flutters. It's worth skipping and spying, risking my Dads wrath if it'll keep the easy smile on Kurt's face.

"Awesome."

* * *

><p>We agree to meet in the parking lot of Breadsticks the following morning. I still have to take the nosey brat to school after all, and its' best not to rouse her suspicions by making her walk or have Kurt in the car without valid reason.<p>

"What kept you?" Kurt asks as I slide into his navigator passenger side.

"I'm five minutes later than I would usually have been, that's not late," I chuckle.

"It is when we have to get there and back without anyone realizing we're gone," he huffs. I roll my eyes as we pull out of the parking lot.

The two hour journey goes quicker than I thought it would, although this probably has a lot to do with the satellite navigation system showing us the way, and Kurt's company. I don't think Kurt and I have ever had two hours of uninterrupted time together in the time we've known one another.

It's nice.

"Oh my god, stop it with the Katy Perry fascination!" Kurt scolds.

"Never. She's a goddess."

"And Lady Gaga?"

"Is … interesting." I smirk at the way Kurt grips the steering wheel tighter in an attempt to refrain from biting at me.

"Lady Gaga is culture," he settles on, his voice even. "Katy Perry does it all as a gimmick; the blue hair, the kissing girls. Lady Gaga lives individuality."

"Not true. Both of them have a public persona and a private life. I don't believe for a second that Lady Gaga actually lives the way she does in public in the comfort of her own home. She must have down time in sweat pants."

"Ew, stop," Kurt shudders. "Not everyone wears sweat pants."

"Oh, I'm sorry are you allergic to sweats?"

"Deathly," Kurt snarks. "And so is Lady Gaga I'm sure."

I laugh out loud. "Oh I'm sorry; I forgot you were a VIP of the House of Gaga," I say with sarcasm.

"See, you claim you don't like Gaga all that much, and yet you know what the House of Gaga is," Kurt muses conspiratorially.

"How can anybody not know about the House of Gaga?" I say as though scandalized. "It's what makes her, her. All I'm saying is that she can't keep up the public persona all the time, it must be exhausting."

"I do."

"No you don't," I say firmly.

We're in Westerville now and have stopped at a set of stop lights. He turns to me inquisitively. "I don't?"

"No," I say with certainty. He gestures for me to continue. "Sure you might wear something fashionable to bed and have more clothes than one person can surely get through in three years, but … you hide the real you behind all that. Every so often I get a glimpse of the real you."

Kurt blushes slightly. "It's easier to hide the real me. I mean, you do that too right?"

I drop my eyes to my lap. "Exactly." I clear my throat and wipe all thought of Dad and moving and my own pretences out of my head. "My point is, Karofsky or no Karofsky, I think you should be able to show the real you more often."

Kurt opens his mouth to respond but his throat seems to close off and his eyes widen. "We're here."

I turn back to the front and I gasp at the sight in front of us. There were pictures of Dalton on the website, but they didn't do it any justice. The magnitude and richness of the Victorian architecture truly has to be seen in person. We gaze in awe as Kurt finds his way to the student parking lot and parks up.

"Woah."

"Why do I get the feeling we're going to stick out like a sore thumb here?" Kurt breathes, unbuckling his seat belt.

"Not necessarily," I reason. "Our uniforms are uh …" I glance down at the blazers Kurt had found for us and the red ties. "Well, I guess we're about to discover how observant they are. Come on."

I leave the car and he follows after a few moments.

"Okay so we go in, act casual, look around for any clues about the Warblers and their whereabouts and if anyone acts suspicious – abort mission, agreed?" Kurt holds his hand out to me daintily. I shake in affirmation. We brace ourselves for a moment and Kurt worms his arm between mine as we walk toward the grand campus ahead of us.

It's no surprise to us, when we realize class is in session. We walk timidly down corridor after corridor. It's a few minutes after eleven and we don't know the schedule.

"Maybe we should check bulletin boards and stuff for information," Kurt mumbles in my ear.

It's a good idea, except I haven't spotted one bulletin board in the fifteen minutes we've been here. The dark mahogany paneling and stone of the walls is bare. It is so unlike McKinley or even my old school which was adorned with posters and flyers and signup sheets and graffiti. In contrast, everything is grand and bare here. It's … strange and old fashioned. Dad had talked about sending me to a private school back in New Jersey before my problems became a family issue. I wonder if it would have been anything like this.

"Are we sure this is actually a school?" Kurt echoes my thoughts.

I shrug as we come into a brightly lit hall. I gasp. A large glass chandelier twinkles at us from above like a cluster of stars in the daylight over an open, marble staircase that worms and spirals its way down the left wall with grace and grandeur.

"If the Warblers can afford this, I can imagine they might be of a higher … caliber than the New Directions," I say in an offhand tone.

"Money isn't everything," Kurt reminds me. "Look at blockbuster movies. They can pump however much money they want into to making the explosions bigger, but the quality is often lost. Let's not make any assumptions based on how expensive the tuition must be here. Not until we've seen them perform or at least seen some mention of their existence."

"And once we have?"

"We panic."

I nod my acceptance of his words, but I'm still worried. I've been in New Directions five days and already I'm worried about our chances at sectionals.

"Come on." I grab Kurt's hand and drag him up the spiral staircase pausing only to look down below and admire the ornate and detailed architecture of the domed roof up above. "I could get used to this," I say.

Kurt squeezes my hand and I realize I'm still holding it. I let go with a sheepish smile and contemplate where to go next. I'm just about to suggest we check the upstairs out properly when a bell sounds nearby and the quiet hallway is immediately filled with the stomp of loafers against marble as students move to their next classes in rooms and corridors surrounding us.

"Oh no! What do we do?" Kurt squeaks. We haven't seen a soul the entire time we've been here but now we're going to have to test our hasty uniforms on actual attendees of the school.

Boys have appeared at the top of the stairs now and I begin to descend slowly, hoping Kurt follows my lead. He does. I feel him press against my back from a few steps up as students bustle passed us with intent. They know where they are going clearly.

I'm just figuring out our next move when I hear it.

"The Warblers again? That's the second time this week."

"Sectionals is coming up, they're practicing their material on us more."

"Senior commons?"

"Where else."

I look around at Kurt to see if he heard too. The wideness of his eyes suggests he has. I look around for the boys who spoke as we reach the bottom stair, but anyone who was near us at that time has already dispersed.

Luckily half the hall seems to be talking about the same thing, I notice.

"Follow everyone else," Kurt hisses in my ear and nudges me towards a door underneath the stairs that I hadn't noticed before.

The whole throng of boys, a sea of blue blazers and red piping, pull us towards it anyway, so I allow myself to be swept away in the excited banter around me, mindful of Kurt's hand on my shoulder … ignoring the way his touch seemed to seep through my hasty and preppiest coat (I don't own a blazer).

The room we enter is a penny short of pandemonium. I can only suppose this is the senior commons, like that guy was talking about before. The room is packed full of boys of all races, heights and weights, chatting good naturedly and moving furniture aside to clear a space in the middle. I glance around the wood paneled walls and bookcases, and inbetween restless boys at the haphazard furniture. I'm sure that when everything is in order, the green leather seats, sofa, tables and chairs only add to the grandness of its décor. I imagine my Dad would like this room very much.

A group of the boys within the room have formed into a pack in the centre. An Asian boy counts them in, and the air is suddenly rent with synchronized harmonies that send a shiver down my spine and raise the tiniest hairs on the back of my neck and arms.

_Hey, hey, hey,_

A pale boy with dark hair sang from the middle of the formation.

_Hey (Hey) hey hey,_

The boys moved into a second formation like a Mexican wave and my mouth drops open at the precision. I feel Kurt tense beside me and I grab his hand on instinct.

_Your lipstick stains on the front lobe of my left side brains,  
>I knew I wouldn't forget you, and so I went and let you blow my mind,<br>Your sweet moon beam, the smell of you in every single dream I dream,  
>I knew when we collided, you're the one I have decided who's one of my kind.<em>

_(One of my kind) _

They are like an army – a preppy, slick army, who ooze unity and confidence. I look at Kurt for a reaction and have to turn away from the expression on his face. He looks ill. His porcelain skin is parchment white and grave. It was a mistake coming here. All this is going to do is frighten us. I'm considering dragging him out of the room when the lead Warbler leaves the seamless formation and dances around the crowd. He darts in between boys and never misses a word or step and ... oh. I notice the crowd for the first time since the Glee club started singing. Every kid in the room is ... enjoying themselves? I look from Dalton kid to Dalton kid, from the one giving it large beside me and Kurt in the red sweatshirt, to the ones stood on tables to get a better look, eager faces excited as they move to the song._  
><em>  
><em>Hey soul sister, ain't that Mr. Mister on the radio, stereo,<em>

_the way you move ain't fair, you know!  
>Hey soul sister, I don't want to miss a single thing you do...tonight.<em>

The lead Warbler meanders between Kurt and I and spins around to face our section of the room. His blue eyes sparkle as he sings and I feel an irrational stab of jealousy. He's doing what he loves, and everybody loves him for it. Why can't we perform to a crowd like this? And there's a part of me that feels as though it's been winded in the side with an epiphany sized baseball bat. Somewhere hidden in Westerville Ohio is a school where kids are happy to be around one another? How is this even happening?

_The way you can cut a rug, watching you's the only drug I need,  
>You're so gangsta, I'm so thug, you're the only one I'm dreaming of,<br>You see, I can be myself now finally, in fact there's nothing I can't be,  
>I want the world to see you be with me.<em>

The lead singer dips low to the ground as his voice goes high in the final chorus.  
><em><br>_

_Hey soul sister, ain't that Mr. Mister on the radio, stereo,_

_the way you move ain't fair, you know!  
>Hey soul sister, I don't want to miss a single thing you do tonight,<br>Hey soul sister, I don't want to miss a single thing you do...tonight,  
>Hey, hey,hey.<em>

We're doomed.

_Tonight._

Kurt seems to have had a similar thought because my hand is in his again and I'm pulled from the room. We walk with purpose down the halls of Dalton. Neither of us speak. We don't look at one another. We don't acknowledge anyone else; even the occasional student who says a cheerful;

"Good morning!"

Although the first time it happens causes Kurt to blanch, which is one more expression than I've seen since before we made it into the senior commons.

It's not until we're safely in the car that either of us says a word. And even then all that comes out is a breathy.

"Wow."

"Yeah."

"So that was ... I mean they were-"

"They loved it," Kurt finishes for me." I raise a questioning eyebrow at him, although I know what he's talking about. "Every single student in that room w-wanted to watch them perform. Not throw slushies at them or – or laugh or cat call – just watch and enjoy and dance along?"

"Yeah."

"It's like Dalton is an alternative universe."

"A nice one," I offer.

"And the performance." Color is slowly returning to Kurt's cheeks now. His mouth opens and closes, at a loss of what words to shape next.

"If we want to beat them we're going to have to … I don't know. Teach Finn how to dance?" I say with a helpless shrug.

"No, no, no, they can't dance either," Kurt says.

I shoot him a dubious look. "Were we watching the same performance?"

"All they were doing was a two step formation," Kurt argues. "It's their singing that scared me. They are so in tune with one another. Like a machine."

I shrug. I hadn't paid much attention if perfectly honest. I was too preoccupied with the ensemble as a whole to look at particulars.

"Yes they are in time, but there isn't much fluidity to them. Not like us." I can tell his words are for his own benefit as well as mine; trying to talk himself out of the fear that has so clearly settled in his heart in the same way it has my own.

"So what do we do?" I ask as Kurt puts his Navigator in gear and drives toward the exit of the lot. I still feel pretty new to this whole competitive Glee club thing.

"All we have to do is out dance them and come up with better songs to sing … maybe tie up Mr. Shue and throw his 80s radio away, and we'll be fine."

"Did you record any of their performance?" I ask.

"Uh. No!" Kurt says with a roll of his eyes. "We were in a crowded room filled with Warbler groupies. I wasn't about to draw attention to ourselves."

I slap his shoulder playfully. "I was just asking. What do we tell the others?"

This time Kurt doesn't have a response. The ride back to McKinley is a lot quieter than the ride to Dalton.

* * *

><p>With the realization that it will be last period by the time we make it back to McKinley, we agree there is not much point in going. We head to the Lima Bean, praying that none of our parents or acquaintances have a coffee craving, and if they do they don't have a watch on them. And by acquaintances I mean Kurt's seeing as I don't know all that many people yet.<p>

"Medium drip?" Kurt asks me as we enter through the door and out of the November breeze.

I nod and watch as he walks up to the counter to order, leaving me to find a table. I remove my jacket and place it on the back of my chair. A flutter of movement near the floor catches my eye and I frown at a piece of folded paper that has settled near my chair leg. I scoop it up and rest against the back of the chair as I sit down to wait. It's crumpled, probably from being on the floor. I look around for anyone who may have dropped it, but no one was near the table when we entered. If it belongs to someone else they are long gone. I unfold the lined paper out of curiosity and freeze at the contents.

_Greetings non Dalton students,_

_You guys are a long way from home. Did you enjoy the performance? Come back tomorrow. If you're going to spy on us 2 weeks before competition it's only fair we get to know our competition to. Be there._

_Sincerely;_

_The Warbler Council_

_Wes, Thad and David._

The paper drops from my numb fingers.

Uh oh.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Yes a cliffhanger. My bad. It just seemed the most appropriate place to cut off. **

**Did you like the Warblers note? I have this vision of them trying to be badass in writing but failing miserably because they feel the need to be polite and have correct grammar etc. Bless them.**

**Teenage Dream most likely wont make an appearance in this fic besides the joke Blaine and Saff have about skin tight jeans. The songs so over used in Klaine fics (understandable as it is their anthem) but as my Blaine is not at Dalton and Kurts already been hit by the Blainester crush there wasn't much need for it. Plus I love Hey Soul Sister.**

**By the way the lead Warbler is Nick in Blaine's absence. Although I forget his exact appearance. Does he have blue eyes? I can't tell on screen.**

**Reviews are appreciated if you would be so inclined :)**


	10. Propositions & Progress

**A/N Hey guys. Sorry this update didn't come as quickly as I would have liked. The first half didn't want to write itself. The Warblers are really difficult to get right. I'm a little nervous about how you guys are going to take this chapter actually but it is over 8,000 words, my longest to date so hopefully that'll make up for any issues you have with it :S **

**Thank you a thousand times over for your thoughtful, kind and helpful Reviews and Alerts and Favourites. I appreciate my readers so much.**

**Also I just got myself a Tumblr account: sarkyblueeyes . tumblr . com. I will post previews of my chapters in future on there especially if there is a long gap between updates.**

**Anyway enough delay. I hope you like it :)**

**Disclaimer: Don't own anything but Matt, Jade and Saffron in this chapter (there isn't a lot of them) Fox and Ryan Murphy are the lucky owners of Glee.**

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Ten - Propositions and Progress<strong>

It took Kurt and me ten minutes to decide we had no choice but to inform the New Directions of this interesting development.

"Safety in numbers," I reason.

"Oh yeah, three bumbling football players, a pirouetting football player, a screeching hobbit, a daddy longlegs ditz, a guy in a wheelchair and a bunch of diva's are totally going to be backup for us against an entire school of preps," Kurt says sarcastically. He sips his coffee in thought.

"I don't understand how they got it in my pocket so quick." My hand taps at the table in agitation. "When did they have time?"

Kurt purses his lips in thought and I have to drag my gaze away from them before my imagination runs amuck. A faint blush colors my cheeks.

"The lead singer did move between us in the middle of the performance," he says.

My eyes widen in recognition. He's right he did. But … wait that makes no sense. In order to have gotten it in my pocket during the performance it would have needed to be … Oh. "Damn they're good." I huff out.

"Uh huh. Preppy boys got skills," Kurt says with mirth over the top of his coffee.

I fight the smirk at his bad attempt at talking like Mercedes. "We have to at least tell the others what's going on," I argue. "If we disappear and never come back they'll wonder what happened to us."

"Mmmm, preppy death." Kurt closes his eyes, a dreamy smile brightening his face. "I'm having a hard time pretending like that isn't one of my many fantasies," Kurt leans back against the chair and sips his coffee with an air of irony.

I roll my eyes and hunch my shoulders up into my chin. He's not taking this seriously at all.

"Blaine, relax." Kurt grabs my hand over the table, his coffee discarded at the side forgotten. "We'll tell the others, okay? I seriously doubt these Dalton guys want to maul us. And if this is their idea of tough talk," he waves the note in my face, "then they need lessons, because _this_ is amateur."

My mouth upturns into a warm smile without permission – it does that a lot around Kurt – and I run my thumb over his. His eyes flicker to our joined hands and I expect him to let go and make an excuse but he holds on and I bite my lip as I, with a wild heartbeat in my chest, shift our hands so our fingers interlace. Kurt's eyebrows shoot up in surprise but the look is gone a moment later.

I look around us to make sure no one is paying attention, but the Lima Bean is relatively quiet for a Wednesday afternoon. I don't know where this daring side is coming from. All I know is he always says the right thing to make me feel better, and it is getting so much more difficult to pretend like my feelings for him are nothing more than casual friendship.

"We should go," I say and clear my dry throat.

Kurt nods. "Uh huh."

Neither of us makes any effort to leave until the way he stares back at me gets too much and my head dips down and away from him.

* * *

><p>"<em>So tell me what this guy is like,"<em> Jade says from my phone.

I roll my eyes at her nosiness as I walk from English to the choir room. Its lunch time and Kurt has organized for the glee club to meet so we can discuss our Warbler situation.

"_There's nothing to tell,"_ I say and poke my tongue between my teeth as she squeals out;

"_Blaine Anderson, don't play coy with me. You never shut up about him. It's all; Kurt this, Kurt that, so tell me."_

"Could you shout that any louder," I breathe into the phone, looking around warily at the other students who are making their way to the cafeteria, "I don't think the kids on the other side of Ohio heard you."

"_Is he cute?"_

"I'm not talking to you about this."

"_Yes you are, now tell me. Is. He. Cute?"_

"Yes," I relent and hold the phone away from my ear as she squeals again.

"_What's his butt like?"_

"Jade!"

"_What? Butts are so important on guys. Straight boys look at boobs, butts and legs. Girls look at guy's butts, pecks and arms."_

"You are insufferable, you know that?"

"_You love it – oh hang on-" _The phone rustles._ "What? – no I'm asking what Blaine's boyfriends butt is like – well if it's _his_ boyfriend then clearly I am not asking for my benefit, no - Blaine, Matt wants a word."_

I'm bemused by the sound of disjointed bickering before Matt's voice says, _"Dude, come home. She does nothing but talk to me about girl stuff now."_

I laugh out loud at that. "Since when was I ever the surrogate girl in this trio?"

"_Never, but at least with you around I got a break from it,"_ Matt says.

I've reached the choir room now and I cringe as Rachel's screech hits me like a wall of sound. I observe the scene from the doorway,

"… It's like you guys learnt nothing from last year! What were you thinking?"

"Uh, Matt I better go. Glee club drama," I mumble into the phone and walk warily into the choir room.

"Chill out, Berry, it's not like they got beat up, and if they did I'd pound their Dalton asses."

"Don't you Berry me, Noah!" Rachel bears down on where he slouches in his seat. I'm amused to note they are at the same eye level even with her stood. "You put them up to this and now look what you've done. We've got yet another show choir breathing down our necks, because you guys just had to go spy on them. They are going to demand our set list or something worse, like forcing the best singers to not sing lead in Sectionals or they'll tell the show choir board what we did, and what am I left to do? Sway in the back? No, no, no you are going to fix this and you are going to fix this now!"

It's a little like watching one of those tiny dogs that sits in handbags take on a Doberman ten times its size … and the Doberman cowers, I marvel from where Kurt and I are stood near the piano. Kurt mouths a _hello_ and mimes putting a pistol to his head. I grin and lean my arm casually up on his shoulder.

"Okay, I can't believe I'm about to say this but Rachel, tone down the drama," Kurt says over his cuticles with a perfect raised eyebrow. "We made a mistake. Blaine and I will fix it. The only reason we informed you of this little … mishap is so we can have backup should things go awry."

"Kurt they are threatening us," Rachel says.

"Erm," Sam calls from near the back of the choir room. "I used to go to an all boys private school and I seriously doubt they'd have the balls to hurt them or cheat. Their parents are paying way too much money for them to get caught doing something petty like sabotaging another Glee club. They'll have an image to uphold."

"But then why threaten us?" Artie says.

"It's not a threat guys. It's an invitation," I say as I scan over the note in my hand. Now I've calmed down I can see just how tame it really is. "Listen: '_Come back tomorrow. If you're going to spy on us 2 weeks before competition it's only fair we get to know our competition too. Be there.'_ I honestly think they just want to talk it out."

"That makes no sense," Tina says.

"If I may," Kurt moves forward. "Do you remember last year when I joined the football team, and I got you guys to psych out the opposing team by dancing to Single Ladies?"

I choke on air and stare at the back of his head incredulously. Finn, Puck and Mike grumble their recognition of the event and shift in their seats.

"I told you the idea is to never let the enemy know you. We are the enemy and we, unbeknownst to them, turned up uninvited and saw for ourselves that which makes them stand out. That knowledge so close to Sectionals makes them vulnerable. They are trying to regain some power in the situation."

"So we're just going to give it to them?" Puck says with indignation. "It's not our fault we thought of it first. Fairs fair. Snooze you lose."

"Mature, Noah. Really." Kurt turns his sardonic glare away from him and over to me where it smoothes out into a fond smile. "Blaine can back me up on this. There wasn't much time between getting to the room the performance was held in, watching it and leaving. Therefore that note must have been pre-written before the performance even started."

"Which means they already knew we were there," I add.

"Which leads us to believe either they spotted us while we were walking around and realized straight away that we weren't students …"

"Or, they've spied on us without our knowledge and recognized us. Well, maybe just Kurt," I say thoughtfully. "I've only been a member a week."

"They came here?" Quinn asks.

"We don't have a uniform so it would have been easier for them to blend in. I know I wouldn't have noticed them walking around," Finn says helpfully from beside Rachel, who has retaken her seat once more.

"Not necessarily. Kurt and I suspect they've been spying from afar, on a little website known as YouTube."

"An account which was created named and is to this day regularly updated by none other than Rachel Berry." Kurt smiles sweetly at Rachel who sinks lower in her seat at the realization.

"Nice one _Willow_," Santana snaps from behind her.

"Look its lunch time now. Blaine and I are going to skip last period and drive down to Dalton and straighten this out. And we think Santana should come with us."

Santana's scowl brightens at this admission.

"What? Why her, she's a girl." Finn gives Kurt an accusing glare.

"Well spotted Frankenfreak."

Kurt rolls his eyes at Santana. "That's why she's coming. There aren't any girls there and despite Pucks rather offensive description of the school as 'Gay Hogwarts' I'd say the vast majority of the guys there are straight. She'll be a good distraction … unless things turn ugly in which case she's tough enough to scratch their eyeballs out." I'm almost afraid of the proud smile Kurt gives her.

"Eyeballs? Please, I'll scratch their nuts off."

"Blaine needs his girlfriend to protect him from a bunch of rich kids?" Puck snorts.

Kurt's shoulders stiffen at his words, and his lips thin into a hard line. "The three of us will let you guys know the outcome the moment we leave Dalton later," he says tightly, and with a graceful turn on his heel walks out of the choir room. Confused by his abrupt departure, I signal to the others that the meeting is over and Santana walks with me so I can brief her.

* * *

><p>Santana releases a low whistle from the backseat as I pull the car into a space in the student lot at Dalton.<p>

"Are the guys here as fancy looking as the building?" she asks.

"Pretty much," I say and check my watch. It's a little past four.

"Wanky."

"Your boyfriends in the car, Santana," Kurt reminds her with a dull voice.

"I never said we were exclusive, Ladyface," Santana snaps and stalks out of the car.

I watch as she makes her slow way towards the building in an attempt to not look at the boy beside me. He's been strangely subdued the entire two hour journey. If I didn't know better I would assume he had some kind of male version of PMS.

"They didn't say where we're supposed to meet them," I realize aloud.

"Let's just walk in and see what happens," Kurt mumbles and unbuckles his seat belt. He reaches for the door but I grab his arm to still him.

"Kurt I … are you okay?" I ask in confusion.

"Why wouldn't I be?" he says shortly, pulls his arm free and slams the car door shut. I shake my head at the steering wheel as his figure disappears behind a parked car. Maybe there is a male version of PMS.

When I arrive in the Entrance Hall of the main building, Santana and Kurt are already stood by a group of four boys who are off to the side. I recognize one of them immediately as the lead singer from yesterday's performance. The other three I have a vague recollection of. The Asian boy nods at me as I approach.

"Welcome to Dalton. We would have said so yesterday but you seemed to be in a hurry to leave."

The four boys share amused glances and I straighten my back in an attempt to give off even a fraction of the aura of superiority they seem to possess in spades.

"My name is Wes," the Asian boy continues. "This is David and Thad of the Warblers Council, and our main vocalist Nick."

"Are you going to get to the point and threaten us or what, because I'm bored already," Santana says.

The boy called David surveys her with a genuine smile. "Our apologies for boring the lady. We'll go to the common area for our … talk."

We follow after them one by one, the only sound Santana's voice mumbling something which sounds suspiciously like "Holy crap are these guys for real?"

The entire experience is bewildering from start to finish. From the civilized way we enter the common room and settle around a large rectangular table, the Warblers on one side, us on the other, down to the offer of coffee. No seriously, they offer the spy's who broke into their school a hot beverage.

Santana declines the offer, and shoots me and Kurt filthy glares when we say a timid "yes."

"Did you two get dropped on your heads at birth?" she hisses at us when the Warblers leave the room to retrieve our drinks. "If I've learnt anything from coach Sylvester it's that you don't accept anything from the competition. We're in their territory. They could put something in it. At least a slushie is cold! If they throw coffee at you you'll be scarred. And I ain't getting up on that if it's disfigured." She gives my body the once over.

Kurt and I exchange worried glances. I hadn't thought of that, which is really stupid considering my experience with Peter Lance putting itching powder and other harmful substances in my food. The Warblers return with our coffee's and I peek at the contents of mine gingerly.

"Thank you," Kurt says and clears his throat, cocking his head with an air of nonchalance. "It's very civilized of you to invite us for coffee before you beat us up for spying."

"We are not going to be you up." Wes's tone is serious, earnest, and my shoulders visibly relax. I still don't take a sip of the brown mixture before me.

"You two were such terrible spies that we found you both … endearing," David added.

"We've had Vocal Adrenaline and Aural Intensity break into the school before now and they did a lot of damage," Thad says. "In fact you can thank them for us finding you guys out so quickly. The school boosted security after Vocal Adrenaline came and trashed the Senior Commons. A junior member spotted you in the monitors when he visited the offices and alerted us right away."

I scan the room in search of these cameras and sure enough, there's one in the far left hand corner ceiling, above the door aimed directly at us. I shiver under the knowledge there is probably an entire glee club watching our exchange right now in another part of the school.

"We've had similar experiences with Vocal Adrenaline," Kurt says. "I don't want to be rude but if you didn't call us here to beat us up, why?"

"We have a proposition for you," Wes says.

Santana cocks her head in interest and opts for a devilish smile. "What kind of proposition?" she purrs.

Nick who is closest to Santana jumps out of his seat a little and clears his throat. I narrow my eyes and look near her lap where I can just about see her hand rests on Nick's thigh and travels higher. "Not that kind, but uh ..."

She shrugs and removes her hand. I smirk at the disappointment etched on his face and the burning red of Nick's ears. "Shame."

"We know a little more about your clubs history than you might think," Thad says. "We know that Vocal Adrenaline has messed with you in the past. I understand their former front man Jesse St. James transferred to your Glee club last year and dropped you a week before Regional's, correct?"

I shrug. Kurt and Santana exchange worried looks however so I gather that what they say has at least some truth to it.

"We also know that the Arts program at your school has trouble with funding, and your administration has said if you don't do well in competition, your club will be disbanded."

My eyebrows furrow in thoughtful confusion. Kurt tenses beside me and I grab his hand in concern. I'm nonplused by what they are saying. No one has mentioned any of this to me. Not even a casual, _'Oh hey Blaine, guess what, you know that club we've been badgering you to join? Yeah, so if we don't place at Sectional's there won't be a club anymore. Sucks right?'_

Kurt leans forward, his eyes not leaving Thad's. "You guys have done a lot more than spy on YouTube," he observes aloud.

Thad gives us a wry smile.

"This isn't a threat, Kurt. It is an opportunity," David says from beside Thad. "We, like you have been victims of the clubs that bend the rules to win. We lost to Vocal Adrenaline at Sectionals last year because they psyched us out the day before competition. We were completely off our game."

"Assholes." I blanch at the word coming from Wes. It's the first show of emotion I've seen from him. "All that hard work, and for what?"

"We've never gotten involved with petty rivalries before now. Dalton is an institution of class and honor. However the behavior of these two clubs has forced our hand. Aural Intensity and Vocal Adrenaline are both going to win their Sectionals, the former because of blackmail, and the latter thanks to their new singer Sunshine Corazon, who I understand was stolen from under your noses."

"That was Rachel's fault," Santana supplies for my benefit, leaning around Kurt. "She sent her to a crack house."

I have no time to react to this revelation before the Warblers speak again.

"Our proposition is dependent on whether you or we win Sectionals," Wes says. "If you win, your club won't get disbanded and you'll go on to compete against Aural Intensity. But if _we_ win, you will no longer exist. If this happens our school is willing to pass an Arts grant on to your school courtesy of Warbler Nick, whose Dad is on the Dalton school board, which means your club will have the funding to keep going for another year. With you guys still in business we'll both have an ally against the two most dangerous clubs in this state should they try something at Regional's or Nationals."

I smile at them in excitement. Are they serious? I look to Kurt and Santana keen to share my glee at this new development, but they aren't looking at me. Rather they exchange a silent conversation I have no part of. Kurt finally leans back in his seat as Santana stands and perches against the table with her legs crossed daintily, Cheerio's skirt riding up her thighs.

"Okay what's the catch?" she glares down at them suspiciously.

"No catch," David says, his eyes nowhere near her eye level.

"Bullshit." She stands again and leans down, hands flat against the table. "If there is anything we have learned in the last year, it's that there is no such thing as charity in show choir. What. Is. The. Catch."

The Warblers expressions are unreadable. As they glance between one another in visible confusion.

"When you guys came to this school yesterday, you observed us and then left. We're willing to overlook that because you did us no harm and we have watched your videos on YouTube. As a private institution we don't publicly broadcast our performances so we are not concerned you witnessed our performance. Fair is fair. You guys are one of the only half decent show choirs in Ohio that seems to be as honest and victimized as we are. Honestly we just want to help."

I squeeze Kurt's arm. "That's nice of you. I think it's a good idea,"

I look to Kurt to see if he agrees. His lips are pursed, eyebrows slightly raised with his head tilted towards me. He smiles tepidly at the Warblers and Santana.

"Will you excuse us?" He doesn't wait for a response and I'm dragged across the room by his deceptive small, but strong arm.

"What's wrong?" I ask. My eyebrows knit together.

"Blaine, you're not seriously falling for this, right?" Kurt dips his head to look into my eyes seriously.

I gulp and try to concentrate on his words rather than the way his eyes seem to meld between watery green and grey. "Fall for what? They are offering us a 'Get of Jail Free' card. Even if we don't win Sectionals we'll still exist."

Kurt rubs at his forehead tiredly and gives me a wane and crooked smile. "You have no idea how fond I am of you, but you are so naïve sometimes."

My arms fold across my chest petulantly. "No I'm not."

"Yes you are." He glances at the table and cups my face in his hands and I'm frozen to the spot, my breathing shallow. "I know you haven't been here very long but I – Santana is right. There is no such thing as charity in show choir. We learnt that the hard way. We can't accept that grant from them even if we lose."

"Why not?"

"They are bribing us."

"They just said there's no catch."

"And if a lion promised not to eat you, would you believe it and fall asleep?"

What's that got to do with anything? "Huh?"

"I don't know what they are up to but, that grant wouldn't go unrewarded. I just can't figure out their angle."

"They told us what the reward for them is. Having one more honest show choir in Ohio and an ally," I say earnestly.

Kurt opens his mouth to argue but seems to decide against it. He shakes his head at me wonderingly and one of the smallest, gentlest and – I internally scold myself for thinking this - sexiest smiles lights up his features. "You are so trusting." He sighs and rubs his thumb against my cheek absent mindedly. His cool touch ignites a fire beneath my flesh which ripples down my spine. I bite my bottom lip.

"So what are we going to do?"

Kurt checks his watch and takes my hand again dragging me back to the table where Santana is keeping a cool eye on the four Warblers.

"Well, have you come to a decision?" Thad asks.

"This isn't the type of decision we can make without consulting our entire glee club," Kurt says. "We'll be in touch." Kurt nods at Santana who lifts out of the seat she's reclaimed. I wave at the Warblers in a feeble gesture and turn away.

"Wait Blaine," Wes calls. He hands a small card over. I glance at Kurt stood mere steps from me; arms folded watching our exchange closely. "If your boyfriend changes his mind or the club takes us up on our offer, here's my number."

I blink at him. "I'm sorry, boyfriend?"

Wes nods at Kurt who has turned a deep crimson. I openly gape at Wes. "Oh no, he's not my – I mean it's not that he's not – but I-"

"Oh, I'm sorry," Wes cringes and looks between us apologetically. "I thought with the way you two are around one another, I just assumed."

"Actually Blaine is _my_ boyfriend, moron, but nicely observed," Santana snarls and pulls me into a kiss. I sigh dejectedly and allow her to do it, all too aware of Kurt's stiff presence beside me. She releases my face and I stumble backwards slightly.

"We'll be in touch," Santana says with a sweet smile and with a swish of her skirt stalks towards the exit. I follow after her, trying not to be affected by the once again subdued figure of Kurt behind me.

* * *

><p>I'm not in the mood for a confrontation when I get home but that is precisely what I get the moment I step in the door.<p>

"Where the hell have you been?" My Dad rounds on me.

"With Kurt and Santana," I say and check my watch; it's not even past seven and I'm three hours earlier than curfew, so why the Spanish Inquisition.

"Who is Santana?" he asks. His frown is so pronounced he looks cross eyed.

"His girlfriend," Saffron pipes up from behind Dad. She's sat on the bottom stair, elbows resting against her knees.

Dad's eyes widen at that piece of information. "You're what?"

"Girlfriend," I repeat, "and for the last time she is NOT my girlfriend. She's just this girl who has a habit of throwing herself on me," I admit.

For a moment Dad's expression almost looks proud, but then he schools his features and rests his glare back on me. "And where exactly did you go straight after school with your girlfriend and our neighbor?"

I grind my teeth together. There's no point in lying. "Westerville. We went to have a meeting with a private schools glee club."

"Why?" Saffron asks.

"Oh you know, school competition rivalry and all that," I say vaguely.

Dad nods. His eyes never leave my face as he opens his mouth to say; "and when exactly, were you planning on picking your sister up from school?"

It's like Karofsky has thrown a slushie at me when the realization of why this confrontation is occurring sinks in. I groan and cover my nose in frustration at my own idiocy.

"Oh my god I forgot!"

"We know that," Dad says coolly.

"Saff, I'm so sorry." I look to her and grimace at her cold stare.

"I had to walk four miles home," she informs me. "By the time I realized you weren't coming, all the school buses were gone, and the public bus drivers are on strike today."

Shit, shit, shit.

"I'll make it up to you, I promise. We can hang out whenever you want. If I'm doing something, I'll cancel, just … sorry." I finish lamely.

"You will cancel whatever you are doing for the next week, because you're grounded," Dad says.

"What? I forgot one time!" I say incredulously.

"And maybe you won't be so quick to forget again."

My fingernails dig into my palm, my hands ball into fists and I stalk past him and Saffron without a backward glance and storm up to my room, throwing my bag down on the floor. It's only then I get a proper look at my messenger bag which appears to be a completely different color to usual.

Kurt's bag I realize. And I'm grounded so I can't go give it to him anyway. Well, unless I sneak out for a minute. I mull the idea over in my head and peak out the window to see if he is in his room yet. The lights are out. Damn. I open my window and look down. My bedroom overlooks the side alley but directly below my window is a narrow wooden shed of debatable sturdiness. It takes forty three seconds for me to determine whether I could lower myself onto the shed without breaking through the roof, and I push it open wider and sit on the ledge, my feet dangling over the side in the cool Autumnal breeze. Or is it winter now? I drop his bag down onto the footpath and take a deep breath, count to three, count to three again, count to five, then give up on a countdown and push myself away from my window and land with bent knees onto the roof of the shed. My legs slip. I suck in a desperate breath and grip the roof with my nails. The friction does little to stop me and I land in a flailing heap on the concrete path beside me.

"Ow." With a groan I lift myself to my feet and shake my legs out a little to test them out. Nothing feels broken. Sprained and bruised? Hell yes. I crouch down and crawl past the dining room window, check no one is looking and hop over the Hummel's side fence.

I hope Kurt won't notice my slight disheveled appearance but when he opens the door his eyes widen and that damn eyebrow raises a little, questioning. "You've got foliage in your hair," he says. "And your clothes."

"I'm grounded," I mumble as he picks leaves and a random twig out of my hair and dusts me off. "I accidentally took your bag instead of mine." I hold it out to him. Kurt glances towards the living room where I can hear a football game. I'm beckoned inside and he pulls me to the left and hides me behind his height as we walk toward the stairs.

"Who was that, Kurt?" Burt's voice calls from the living room.

"Blaine," Kurt replies. "He gave me a ride home and I left my bag in his car. I'm going to do my homework."

"Sure thing, Buddy."

Kurt nods toward the stairs and I climb up ahead of him before he leads me into his room. I've never been in here, I realize as I walk in and he switches on the light and I only catch a glimpse of his double bed, his vanity, desk and shelves upon shelves of CD's and DVD's and a stack of Vogue on his hamper before I turn to him in panic.

"Oh wait can you keep the light off," I whisper as he closes the door. "I don't want anyone to look in from my house and see me."

"I could just close the curtains," Kurt points out but switches the light off regardless. The only light is now from my bedroom which I realize now I forgot to turn off before I jumped out of the window. "Why are you grounded," he asks softly.

"I forgot about picking Saffron up and she had to walk home."

"Oh," Kurt peers at me through the darkness and gestures for me to sit wherever I want. "I guess you can't hang out with your girlfriend for the next week then." I can't quite discern his tone.

"She's not the person I want to hang out with," I admit. "And for the one hundredth time, she is not my girlfriend."

"Blaine, have you ever noticed how you only say that when she's not around?" Kurt sits by the window seat and looks up at me.

"Would you want to have that conversation with Santana?" I ask seriously.

Kurt smiles sadly at me. "I know she's scary but … you are leading her on. I know she acts like you're just her toy to fool around with but she'll get pissed at you if you let this drag on much longer. And I noticed how possessive she got when Wes thought you and I a-" he breaks off, and if it wasn't dark, I'm pretty sure I'd see the blush I'm so fond of coloring his porcelain cheeks.

I settle down on his desk chair. "I know. Can I ask you something?"

Kurt cocks his head to the side and nods. I smile at how the light from my room behind him makes his figure seem ethereal.

"Why are you so bothered about Santana? You've been snappish about her near enough all day."

Kurt lowers his eyes to his lap and takes a deep breath. "I guess I just get the impression you … like the fact everyone thinks she's your girlfriend," he mumbles.

I turn his chair and rest my chin on the back in thought. "It makes my life a little easier, I suppose, but I wouldn't say I _like_ it. But why does that bother you?"

Kurt shrugs.

I peer at him over the top of the chair; allow my eyes to trace his hands as they fidget with the scarf he unravels from his neck and places on the window seat beside him neatly. I will him to look up at me. As though he senses this, his eyes find mine. My breath catches in my throat and I drag my hand through my hair a little in frustration at how guarded they are. "I think you do."

And like that the shield lifts, whether on purpose or by accident I couldn't tell you, but it's long enough for me to see confusion and more than a little frustration directed at me. My breath is shallow as I fight the urge to stare at his lips. He bites his bottom lip and my mind is torn between cursing and praising him for doing so. He closes his eyes, shutting off my window into his thoughts.

"Please don't look at me like that."

I stiffen at the tone of voice, so brittle, like it might disappear any moment. "Like what?"

"I – no one's ever looked at me like that," he whispers.

"Like what?" I press and stand from his chair to make my slow way over to him at his window.

"Like I'm-" He stares up at me wide eyed. "Blaine I ... It can't be a secret to you how I feel. I'm not good at hiding it when I feel things sometimes so please, please don't look at me like that, because I don't think I could handle it if it isn't what I think it is," he admits and casts his eyes down towards the floor. "I've had that happen before."

I reach him now and sink down on the window seat. My hearts an insistent knocking against my ribcage and I have no idea what has possessed me, but now I'm here I can't seem to stop.

"What do you think it is?" I ask, and lift his chin with my forefinger until his face is level with mine. I gulp in an attempt to moisten my dry throat.

"I – I think you want to kiss me," he says with an unsteady voice. "But you're 'straight' and if we were to ... to do this I – I don't know if I could – and you probably don't so I'm making a huge fool of myself and – oh god I shouldn't have – forget I said anything."

I've never heard such a complete lack of coherent speech from him.

"I want to," I say and marvel at the soft O his mouth makes when he gasps at my words. "I've never wanted to kiss anyone so much in my life."

"What about you're Dad?"

"He wants me to pretend," I say softly, "he didn't say _stop_ being gay."

Kurt's eyes don't waver from mine, although the intrigue is evident.

The finger under his chin has moved and my hand now palms his cheek. "You, you're so ... if it looks like I want to kiss you, it's because I do."

He closes his eyes and shakes his head, as if he's willing himself not to believe it.

"And I can't switch it off."

He opens his eyes and I suppress the panic in seeing them filled with tears. For a moment I think I've said the wrong thing. I think of Karofksy and how he stole a kiss from him and I realize I might be walking on forbidden territory without permission. Until the most beautiful smile I have ever seen breaks out over his flawless face, and it's all I can see. Sat in his dark bedroom, silhouetted by the light from my own bedroom window, I lean forwards without any thought to consequence and do what I've wanted to do ever since I first heard him sing from my bedroom window that first day.

I press my lips against his in a gentle and experimental kiss and something roars to life in my stomach; a dragon that breathes fires through my veins and envelopes me in a warm cocoon of giddy emotion. He gasps against my lips and I release his slowly, only for him to lean forward and claim them again firmly. I marvel at the softness as they move against my chapped ones with fervor.

His hands grab clumsily at the scruff of my shirt and I'm pulled into him. I groan when one hand wraps around my neck and the other pushes at my back until we're chest to chest, flush together in an awkward sitting position. I nibble at his bottom lip with a gentle graze of my teeth and he whimpers in the back of his throat and opens his mouth. My tongue worms its way through and I whimper when it comes into contact with his tongue. It's nothing like when Santana kissed me. It's too much and not enough at the same time and my left hand trails down his side to fasten around his firm waist.

Blissful oblivion, some author of some book I can't remember described this moment as. His hand travels into the thick curls at the back of my head and the sensation of his nimble fingers scratching against my head sends shocks of pleasure down my spine. I shiver and he squeezes me tighter.

I'm not sure who pulls away first. All I know is the need for air becomes too insistent and then our lips are no longer together, and we pant into each other's mouths both overwhelmed by what just happened but unwilling to move from each other. I wrap my other arm around his waist too and pin him there.

He doesn't fight it and rests his forehead against mine, eyes open and staring into mine.

"You are going to be the death of me," he says and presses a chaste kiss to my nose.

"God, I hope not," I answer.

He giggles and I move my head down to his designer clad shoulder. "This is actually happening," he wonders aloud.

I loop my fingers with his "If you want it to?" I'm embarrassed by how needy that hesitant half question was.

He pulls me back for a kiss that feels like forever but was actually a few seconds and I blink through the dazed sheen over my eyes.

"Is that a yes?"

"That's a hell yes."

I rest my head back down on his shoulder. "I have no idea what I'm doing," I admit.

"Me neither." His fingers resume their mission to tame my curls and I nuzzle into the crook of his neck with a sigh of contentment. "By the way, I've changed my mind," he says.

"About what?" I ask.

"I think the hobbit hair is adorable. Maybe trim it up a little bit but if I'm deprived of doing this to it..."

I snort and lift my head to look at his amused face. "Can I have that in writing?" I bravely lift my hand to his hair and ignore the glare when I run my hand through the silkiness, breaking apart the hold of hairspray.

"Blaine," he warns.

I pay no heed as my hand trails to the hair at the back of his head and massage my fingers into it, I play with it gently, my concentration on his face. It's a smug moment when his eyelids droop and the scowl is replaced by one of surprised contentment, like a cat that's never experienced love from its owner before and is caught off guard by how good it feels.

"On second thought, do what you want. That feels good," he breathes out and leans forward to kiss me again. I meet him halfway and for the next few minutes I lose myself in the sensation. Kissing Kurt doesn't compare to any experience I have ever had. It's like my entire life has been in black and white up until this moment, and it took a kiss to bring my world back into color.

Oh god I watch way too many Disney movies!

He breaks away from my lips and I'm caught off guard when his mouth forges a trail across my cheek to my ear and travels down the column of my throat. I shiver in anticipation and my breath hitches when he turns his attention to the other side of my throat and sucks on my pulse point.

"Kurt?" I'm almost embarrassed by how feeble my voice is.

"Shh." He tilts my head back for better access and breathes into my left ear. I wine at the unexpected jolt of arousal and pull his face back to mine.

"Slow down," I whisper and press a chaste kiss to his lips.

He blushes pink in the gloom of his room and it takes all my self-restraint not to attack them with my mouth. "Sorry, I just. I've wanted to do that for weeks."

"Yeah?"

He nods and I kiss his forehead and glance towards the window.

"Maybe we should move this away from the window," I say. "If Saffron barges into my room and sees us she might tell my Dad, and I'm not sure he'd like this."

His affectionate smile disappears as quickly as running water down a drain, replaced by a troubled frown.

"What's wrong?" I stroke my thumb over his cheek, and try to catch his eye.

He bites his lip and looks up at me like he's choosing his words carefully. "I'm not sure I can do this."

I freeze and my eyebrows shoot up past the curls covering my forehead. I take my hand away from his cheek like he's burned me and try to understand what he's just said. "Do what?"

"Us," he says.

I edge away from him in confusion. My heart thumps for a not so pleasant reason now and I grip the edge of the window seat. "I – I don't understand," I admit.

"Blaine your straight."

"No I'm not," I reply. "You know I'm not."

"Yes, but everyone thinks you are," he says.

I lick my top lip and try to see what it is he's seeing, but my mind draws a blank. "But I'm not, so it's not like I'm a straight guy who is having an identity crisis. I know what I am. What are you-" I splutter.

"Blaine, you're not getting this," Kurt holds his fist lightly to his brow, eyes squeezed shut. "I know you're gay; my point is that everyone thinks you are straight." He looks at me meaningfully.

I shake my head at him in bewilderment and nod for him to elaborate.

He rolls his eyes. "Oh my God think, Blaine! How can we be together if no one knows who you really are?"

"Wait, are you – are you saying you don't want to be with me because everyone thinks I'm straight?"

He takes a shuddering breath and nods. "I don't think I can be with someone who won't admit he's with me in public."

"What? You know I can't come out to these guys, my dad will kill me!" I exclaim.

"No, you won't come out," Kurt snaps. "You think I don't know what it's like to be in the closet? I know I scream gay physically, but I wasn't always so forthcoming about my sexuality. I know how hard it can be, but I also know there is no _can't_ about it. There's only _won't_. I wouldn't come out until last year because I thought it would be easier, because I wasn't sure how my dad would react, or my friends. And then I realized I _could_ do it if I was brave enough and the only person stopping me was me and screw everyone else and their opinions. So I stopped denying it."

"Kurt."

"You're using your Dad as an excuse to stay in the closet the same way I did, because you're scared, and it's a convenient excuse for you to not get hurt."

"No I'm not," I say hotly. "I can't do it to my family. What Peter Lance did to me – you don't know the half of it, you don't know what it did to me and my family. You don't know the full story, you have no idea what happened!"

"Then tell me!"

"I can't!"

He shakes his head at me, eyes blazing. "Won't."

I leap to my feet and stomp to the middle of the room, fists clenched at my sides and keep my back to him as I say, "You said that it was okay, I wasn't out." My voice trembles. "You said you wouldn't out me and it was okay."

"It is okay."

"Then why are you doing this?" I turn back to him to find he's stood too though he hasn't moved away from the window.

"Because, call me selfish, but I think I deserve a little better than a guy who won't admit he's with me in public," he says quietly.

It's like he slapped me in the face.

"And I think you deserve to not have to hide who you are. I know you defend your Dad, but I honestly think he's an idiot for thinking you could actually hide who you are. You're the worst actor in the world, Blaine. You wear your heart on your sleeve. I knew you were gay from the moment I met you. And you just kept confirming my suspicions with your behavior. Mercedes, Tina, even Brittney wondered after a week or so. The only reason others think you are straight now is because I told them you are. They trust my judgment because gay kids recognize other gay kids."

He raises his arms up in a shrug. "Why can't we walk down the hall holding hands? Why can't we show affection towards each other in public? Why can't we go to homecoming or prom or go on dates to Breadsticks just like every straight person?" He lowers himself back onto his window seat.

"Because we're in Ohio," I say bitterly.

"I like you Blaine. I – I like you so much it scares the crap out of me. You – you're so – amazing and sweet and funny and I think I'm f- I-"

He doesn't finish his sentence and puts his head in his hands.

"Kurt, please don't do this," I say. All anger has evaporated and has left a hollow emptiness in its wake. If you'd told me beforehand that I'd go from giddy and happy to cold and upset in the space of a few minutes, I would have found a universal remote control and paused the moment of happiness for just that little while longer. Give myself time to prepare myself for the desperate ache in my chest.

He shakes his head at me. "I don't want to hide Blaine. I don't want a boyfriend knowing I can't yell it to the world. It's not fair. I'll keep your secret for as long as you need me to. I will never out you. You're still my best friend. But no matter how much I feel for you, I won't be with you knowing you won't show it to the world. We deserve more than that."

"Ca-" I begin

"-won't."

His face has closed, and I know it's pointless to argue. I close my eyes in defeat and mumble a quick, "Fine," before I grab my bag from his floor and stumble out of his room, down the Hummel stairs and blindly find my way back to my house through the angry tears that I refuse to shed. I don't even care that I wasn't supposed to be out when I barge through my front door and close my bedroom door with a snap locking it.

His window is still dark when I catch a glimpse and I don't think he's by it. Still I'm not taking any chances. I flip the light switch and the room is plunged into darkness. Then for good measure I close my window and my curtains before I allow myself to collapse near my bed and sob into my knees.

I don't understand what just happened. I feel like the stop lights have been on amber the entire time I've known him, unsure if I can go or not, and I finally get the green light, only for it to be snatched away from me before I had a chance to enjoy it. Now I'm stuck in the red zone with no way of maneuvering away without doing what I'm not allowed to do. How is that fair?

My phone vibrates in my pocket and I fish it out with a shaky hand.

_Please don't hate me. You're still my best friend – K_

I throw the phone on the carpet and watch it bounce slightly. The back doesn't come off for once. Don't hate you?

* * *

><p><strong>AN PLEASE DON'T HATE ME! I think Kurt needed to say that and I think its something Blaine needed to hear. And I promise I won't keep them apart too long. I love them too much to let them suffer.**

**In relation to the Warblers proposal, I know in the real world the likelihood of another school offering a grant to another one at the drop of a hat is unlikey but we are in the Glee universe and I think all audience members are trained in the art of disbelief when it comes to the happenings at McKinley etc.**

**I'm curious about your thoughts on what the Warblers are up to. Kurt and Santana suspect there is more to their proposition...**

***runs away to hide***


	11. Stay

**A/N ****Hello good people of fanfiction land. Apologies for the lateness of this chapter. It would appear sometimes I can only write when I am sleep deprived, so sorry in advance if it isn't up to par or parts don't make sense.**

**Massice thankyou to everyone who reviewed the last chapter, favourited and story alerted. I was so nervous about ten but I got such an overwhelmingly good response that I guess I didn't need to worry. Phew. I hope this one doesn't disappoint.**

**FYI I know Blaine has been comfirmed in canon as a grade below Kurt but he will always be the same age to me so boo sucks to you RIB.**

**Warning: Blaine has one of THOSE dreams which I had to write in honour of the ep tomorrow. It is short and in italics if you want to skip sexy times.**

**Disclaimer: Don't own it. Just Saff is mine. Ryan Murphy and Fox are jammy.**

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Eleven<strong>

It's a well known fact of life that when you want to avoid someone, the universe will go out of its way to make sure that doesn't happen. In fact it will very often force you into every situation where you must interact with said person, and you return home night after night feeling like someone somewhere is having a laugh at your expense. I'm no stranger to that feeling, of course, that people are out to get me but I've never felt like the universe itself is determined to make my life difficult before.

I try to avoid Kurt the next day, I really do. I eat my Lunch outside (in November), I sit on the opposite side of the room in French class, and I even veer into the boy's locker room when I spot him and Mercedes walking down the hall only to be chased out by Karofsky's looming fist. I know I'm going to have to see him in Glee club which thankfully Dad hasn't included in my grounding sentence, but I just want one day where I don't have to think about him. Not see him. And being Thursday I have to stick out one more day of school before I can hide in my room for the weekend and wallow in self pity.

By the time Glee club comes around at 3.30 I dawdle outside the door to talk myself into stepping over the threshold.

Yes last night was humiliation of epic proportions.

Sitting near him is going to be painful, rejection does that.

You are supposed to be a man so toughen up, walk in head held high and act like nothing is wrong.

I square my shoulders and take purposeful strides into the choir room, only for my eyes to take a sudden interest in the scuffed floor upon seeing him. I take a seat next to Santana much to the raised eyebrows of everyone in the room and do my best not to look at the object of my discomfort. Kurt's eyes remain on his hands that he has folded neatly against his crossed knees.

"You look like shit, hobbit." Santana tosses her hair haughtily and stares dead ahead, but I can feel her curious glance on me from the corner.

Rachel prances in at that moment and stops in front of Kurt Santana and I, hand on hip.

"Well, how did your meeting with our competition go?"

I'm tempted to roll my eyes at her one track mind. Kurt sighs and he and Santana explain the situation to the other members of the group. I keep silent as I listen, I've barely spoken a word today and I intend to keep it that way.

"We should take the money. It'll be just like monopoly. We can pass go, collect 200 from the Warblers and spend it on keeping us together. Can I be the dog?" Brittany asks.

Everyone gives her a curious stare and looks back to Santana and Kurt without a word.

"So are we going to accept their offer?" Sam asks.

"Absolutely not," Quinn says from beside him, her hand entwined with his on her lap. "The last thing we need to do is give yet another show choir a weapon to use against us."

"Exactly," Mercedes says. "I'm all for a little extra funding. Flying to Nationals in New York isn't going to pay for itself, but let's face it. They give us the money; they can quite easily take it back and leave us more defenseless than ever."

"Thank you, Mercedes, my thoughts exactly." Kurt gives her a winning lopsided smile, the first I've seen from him all day.

"You're welcome Boo," she coos.

"So we're all agreed that the Warblers proposition is out of the question?"

"Well, as co-captain I have to agree that while it is a generous offer, I would rather not put my faith in anyone from a rival glee club ever again," Rachel says. "Finn?"

"Huh? Oh yeah I agree." Finn blinks at her. "I'm all for an alliance and stuff but not if there is money involved."

Rachel grins, jumps on his lap and kisses him in front of everyone. I turn away with an unexpected jolt of disgust and close my eyes shutting out any and all affection between the Glee club members. Hot, very fresh memories of Kurt's lips on mine invade my consciousness, on my neck on my – stop it! My eyes snap open and I stare moodily at the floor.

Has it only just occurred to me how many cushy couples there are in New Directions? Rachel and Finn, Sam and Quinn, Tina and Mike; how had I missed this before?

_Don't look at him_. As ever my eyes don't obey my command. I catch his eye for the first time that day and immediately turn away from the way he worries his lip between his teeth, because I can still feel the way he did the same to mine, and ignore the way his eyes try and communicate without words.

Glee club feels longer than usual with the atmosphere between Kurt and I, and the worst part is, everyone seems to have noticed, besides Sam, Finn and Brittany who I have come to realize are not the brightest sparks in the room. It's so tense in fact that when the clock strikes 4.30, Mr. Shue has barely dismissed us when I speed out of the choir room.

"Blaine!"

I ignore him as I power walk across the parking lot towards my car which is about as far from the school as it can get without being out on the main road.

"Blaine, wait!"

My car keys shake in my hands and I attempt to locate the right one and jam it into the lock. I'm not quick enough and he's beside me, flushed with cold and exertion. He pulls at my arm and my body tenses. He drops it gingerly and holds his hand up in surrender.

"I uh," he looks around awkwardly and gulps. "I haven't seen you all day."

I give him a curt nod. "I've been busy. Homework to catch up on."

"Right."

We stand in awkward silence and I hate it. Hate how I can't seem to hold a conversation with him without the temptation to bolt. I shiver and burrow my head into my scarf. In my haste to leave the choir room I didn't put my coat on.

"I'm still grounded," I nod towards my car, "so I need to go, that's why I'm uh…" I trail off.

It's a lame excuse and he can see right through it. He nods at the floor. "Yeah. I just, I-" His eyes squeeze shut in exasperation and I wait for him to organize his thoughts. "Please don't shut me out."

"I'm no-"

"Yes you are. You've been avoiding me all day."

My cheeks flush. I can't dispute that. It's 100% true.

"I don't want to lose you over this, Blaine." He wipes imaginary lint off of his ever stylish dark blue coat and avoids my eye.

"I just need a few days," I say. "Give me that. I've got a lot to think about and I – It's hard to do that when you're around," I admit.

He lets out a shuddering breath that hangs suspended in the air in the cold parking lot. He lifts his chin up high and gives me one pronounced nod, spins on his heel and walks away towards his navigator. I slump against the side of the car. Why does life have to be so damn complicated?

Friday comes and goes without much complication with Kurt giving me my space, and apparently all members of the Glee club too. I return home straight after school to carry out my grounding sentence in peace and quiet in my room. I barely speak to my family all weekend who give one another pointed and worried glances throughout meals when they think I can't see. I'm almost glad to be back at school on Monday until I see him at his locker again first thing, and have to turn back around and go the long way to homeroom.

Kurt seems to be of the opinion I need space still and leaves me alone all week much to my relief but by Wednesday that relief is replaced by disappointment. I flop my head down on the table in front of me in History. Of course he isn't going to make the first move to talk to me. He tried on Friday and I blew him off. The next move has to be from me. I can't bring myself to talk to him though; I'm so scared of the rejection. I've never had to deal with this. Whenever Jade, Matt and I used to fight, Matt was always the first to call truce and make us all talk again.

* * *

><p><em>He lick's up the column of my neck and blows hot air on it. I lean my head back against my window. Except it's not my window at the same time. The color is different, and Kurt's bedroom isn't outside and if I was to concentrate on the room itself it would no doubt look nothing like the room I see every day. My eyes are too fogged with lust, the only thing visible his beautiful face as he smirks down at me and teases my mouth open with his tongue.<em>

_This is a dream. The real Kurt won't do this with me._

"_I don't want you," I say between breaths._

"_You don't huh?" his teeth graze at my jaw and I gasp when his fingers rub languorously at my groin through my pajama pants. "Because this one begs to differ."_

_Oh god, my Kurt would never talk like that, but it's so hot._

"_I want the real you." I shudder and lean into him, pressing my mouth to his neck and biting down to keep from groaning to loud at the feel of his hand fingering me through the thin material. _

"_I am real," he whispers against my lips._

_I feel really hot. "No you're not."_

"_Shh," His finger trails against my bottom lip and pushes through into my mouth. His raised expectant eyebrow tells me he wants me to suck it and I do so, rolling my tongue along the tip. He pulls it back out and gives me a lopsided smile._

"_You want me to do that to you?"_

_I gape. The rooms' temperature steadily increases. His hand that touches me with more skill than should be legal even in fantasies trails upwards and sinks down past the waistband of my pajama pants and I choke on air as his hand hits skin and my head slams against the window behind me._

"_Still think this isn't real?" _

_He rolls my balls in his finger tips and I gasp. I cover my face with my hand and wipe the sweat from my brow, my other hand fights between pulling his hand away before it goes too far and sweet surrender._

"_No."_

* * *

><p>"Blaine, wake up."<p>

I jolt and stare blearily at the blurred figure of Mom sat on the bed beside me. She's leant over me and has my arms pinned to my side. I blink in confusion at her and the expression on her face; eyebrows furrowed in concern. For a moment I think she knows what I was dreaming about and I whimper in embarrassment but I can feel a dull thud in my forehead and the contrast of something cool lain on my scorching skin. I open my mouth to speak but all that comes out is a choked;

"Wha-you-d-" I cough and wince at the tickle in my throat. I try to sit up but she steadies me with her hand on my chest.

"I've been trying to wake you for the last ten minutes," she explains and takes the cool strip off my head and examines it. "You're running a fever honey, no school."

I groan. I have a test today and I have a feeling Rachel will decapitate me if I miss a Glee rehearsal so close to Sectionals next week. I'm about to tell her as much when my stomach takes an unexpected turn. My mom seems to sense this in the intuitive way mothers the world over seem capable of doing and pulls a bucket out of nowhere as I flail in an attempt to exit the bed. I grab it and vomit for a few minutes as she rubs soothing circles into my back. When it subsides, I rest my head against the rim exhausted, but she plucks the bucket gingerly, places it on the floor and dabs the sweat off my face with a damp flannel.

"No arguments, baby. No school. I'll call the Principal."

I shiver and settle back down into the covers. "What about Saff?"

"Your father will have to drive her to school."

I roll my eyes and regret it when the movement disturbs the headache that's centered in my forehead. She hates being alone in the car with Dad because he asks a lot of questions and she's a firm believer he pry's too much into her business.

"I'm sorry I can't stay home with you, I have a meeting and have to go into the office."

I cough. "I'll be fine. I'll just sleep it off," I mumble.

She kisses my forehead and exits the room closing my door with a snap. I shudder wrapped in a warm cocoon and drift back to sleep somehow despite the pound in my head and when I wake up, it's to the feel of the bed as it dips to the left of me, somewhere outside of my cocoon of comfort and heat. I burrow my head further into my pillow.

"Mom, I said I'll be fine on my own for a day. I'm pretty sure it's just a twenty-four hour bug," I mumble into the fabric.

I hear a soft sigh from above me and her gentle hand rubs up and down my back. Fever infused tension is released from my shoulders at the gesture and I feel like I'm about to seep into the mattress and disappear. It's not her usual tactic. She tends to fuss at my bed sheets and cluck about making chicken soup and what medications will be the best course of action. The silence is a nice change.

"Go back to work, Mom." I roll over and grimace as my sore skin rubs against the rough sheets. I look up at her to show her I'm surviving.

Except its' not my Mom staring down at me with concern filled eyes.

"Saffron said you were sick," Kurt says.

I gape at him; the hinge of my mouth opens and closes. When did he speak to my sister? He seems to have read the question in my expression because he answers,

"Your dad asked me to take her to school for him because you couldn't. She said you had a fever and were being a wimp."

I smile weakly.

"I tried to text you to see if you were okay but you didn't respond so..."

"I'm fine." I try to sit up but the room travels from one side to the other like I'm on a carousel and I flop back down with my eyes tight shut before it can make me nauseous.

"Don't try and sit up so quickly," Kurt scolds and presses his thin fingers to my sticky forehead. I almost flinch away from his touch, but it is cool against the burn and my head lifts off my pillow and leans into it instead. I open my eyes and study him as he concentrates on rubbing the back of his hand against my cheeks too, I assume in a bid to assess my condition without a thermometer. I blush at the intimate gesture and shrink back down into my pillow, suddenly feeling more vulnerable than the fever made me.

"Why are you here?" I ask in a small voice.

His gaze flickers to mine and holds it in confusion. "Why would you think I wouldn't come see you?" he dodges.

"This is hardly life threatening," I point out. As if offended by my assessment and to prove its ferocity, my throat clams up and I cough into my sheets. Kurt sits patiently until it subsides and hands me a glass of water. I smile despite myself. He must have refilled it for me. "Thanks."

"I still care," Kurt points out. "Besides, it was going to be Mercedes or Santana. Plus Rachel was griping about how '_if any member should be here a week before Sectionals, it's the newest member who doesn't even know the choreography. Is he trying to ruin my life?_'" his voice rises in a shrill imitation and rolls his eyes at the ceiling. "I pointed out her boyfriend supposedly knows the choreography but still has two left feet, and she stormed out."

"Sorry."

He disregards that. "Anyway I figured I'd spare you the lectures. And em…" He looks away awkwardly. "I know we haven't been ... the same for the last week but I, I kind of hoped you would prefer my company to theirs." I catch an unusual glimpse of his teeth as they nibble on his bottom lip, eyes downcast at his hand that fiddles with the end of my sheet.

It occurs to me that this is the first time we've been alone for over a week now. In fact this is the most we've spoken since that Wednesday when – I clamp down on the memory of his lips on mine and the hurt that followed. I didn't even participate when Santana and Kurt relayed the Warblers proposal to the Glee club on Thursday. I study his profile wistfully.

I miss him.

"I'm not sure I'm the best kind of company at the moment," I whisper with a sad smile. He squeezes my fingers delicately so as not to aggravate my crawling skin and I know he understands what I'm saying. That I do prefer his company, and I am grateful to him for being here.

I lean over my side table to check the time on my cell. Its 1.30pm. "Shouldn't you be in school?"

"It's lunch time."

I frown. An hour ago it was, yes. How long has he been here? He doesn't seem like he's about to leave any time soon either. I prop my pillows up and hoist myself into a sitting position against his protest and ignore the way my head spins for a few seconds.

It is only now I get a proper look at him. His eyes are overshadowed by heavy, dark bags that graze the sensitive are below them and he's paler than usual. Besides the concern for me, I can see something else that makes me nibble my lip in worry. He looks strained. Thoughts of our argument rise to the surface again and I attempt to press down on the guilt in my gut. I hope I'm not the reason. I'm not conceited enough to think his life revolves around me, he made that clear on Wednesday but it hurts to think I might be the reason he looks so unhappy.

"Have you eaten?" His hand flits towards the curls stuck to my wet forehead, but it retreats a moment later. I'm not sure if I'm disappointed or relieved.

I shake my head. He nods to himself and reveals a plateful of triangle sandwiches to me, which brightens my mood considerably.

"I couldn't find any soup in your kitchen so I made the next best thing. No dairy," he says with a sheepish grimace.

I smile my first genuine smile since I woke up, the first one since last week really and accept the sandwiches, stuffing the first one in whole.

"Woah slow down," Kurt says with wide eyes watching me with caution. "Your stomach is weak. Don't rush."

I roll my eyes and swallow the bread down, before I take a daintier bite of the next sandwich. I'm so hungry. I eat quietly and watch in puzzlement as Kurt busies himself and rummages through his messenger bag until he pulls out something bright pink and homemade.

"Before I forget, Brit asked me to give this to you."

I stuff the final mini triangle into my mouth and savor it with relish plucking the card from his slight grasp with a wry smile. I chuckle at the picture of a unicorn head and a boy riding it, drawn in what looks to be multi colored crayons. I open the card and smile fondly at the message:

_To Blaine_

_Get well soon. Make sure all the other Hobbits are nice to you while you're poorly. Remember you have rights._

_Love and lady kisses._

_Brittany xoxo 3_

"Hell of an imagination that girl," I say with a fond smile and place the card on my bedside table.

"Yeah."

I take a swig of my water. Immediately I know this is a mistake. My stomach clenches and bile burns up my throat. I bolt out of my bed into my bathroom, barely making it to the toilet bowl on time.

Kurt's beside me in the next moment and rubs my back as I retch, my body shuddering with exertion. "I told you not to eat it so quick."

My biting retort to that obvious statement is swallowed by another wave of nausea and I turn my attention back to the toilet. Once the clench of my stomach eases I collapse back on the cold tiles below me in relief. Kurt nudges the glass of water into my hand.

"Rinse your mouth out. Don't swallow it or it'll come back up." He pushes my curls away from my wet forehead.

I shudder but do as I'm told and sip gingerly, swishing the liquid around my acidy mouth and spit it into the toilet.

He sets the water aside and guides my head to his chest. My shoulders tense but I don't have the energy to move away like my mind warns me to do. His hand trails to the back of my head and shocks of pleasure ripple through my sore nerves and foggy mind as his fingers gently caress my curls. I relax into him and wind my arm around his waist.

He hisses and I look up, startled to see his brow creased and his face screwed up in pain. I press my finger into his back experimentally and gauge his reaction as he flinches. I frown and without a word lower my arms so they hang lower on his back, squeezing slightly to make sure the new area I touch isn't sore. He doesn't react, his mask back in place and I lower my head back to his chest and nibble my lip in concern.

Karofsky. I haven't seen a lot of Kurt this week. Perhaps the bullying has escalated.

Realization is so often like a brick to the face. It's so clear to me why he hasn't left yet. He came to check on me because he's amazing like that, but he hasn't left because he can't bear to be at school. Whatever is wrong with his back must have happened this morning. I close my eyes and will myself not to shudder with the effort to rein in my temper. If he doesn't want me to know it happened then I need to rest, get better and be back in school tomorrow to keep an eye on him. Awkward feelings aside, I need to deal with my emotions towards him and go back to being a friend who is there.

My head pounds as the adrenaline dies down and I groan and rub my nose against his skin. His flowery scent, that some may call feminine but I know enhances his natural masculine aroma surrounds me in a cocoon of familiarity. I feel wretched but this – this, as he toys with the side of my t-shirt is a nice distraction. Even if the only reason I'm being allowed this is because I'm vulnerable, and the side of him that cares can't help itself.

My chest burns as badly as my throat at the thought that this won't happen again. An irrational side of me wishes I was ill more often just so I can be this close to him for a legit reason. But no, not until I can be open about myself. Not until my Dad gives me permission to be honest with the world again. With the school. Not until I can tell everyone who will hear me – supportive or against – that I want him.

'_Until you can? You _can_, Blaine, you just won't,"_ an extremely Kurt-like voice whispers at me, and for a moment I think he's heard my thoughts. No. His lips didn't move. I would have felt the vibration of his chest if he'd said the words himself.

I nuzzle at his collarbone. He shudders and leans his head on top of mine.

"What am I going to do with you," he mutters into my hair.

I squeeze his side tighter. "Can we please be friends again?"

He chuckles. "I wasn't aware we stopped. Can you move yet?"

"Yes," I rasp. Kurt lifts my head away from his chest with gentle fingers and hoists me off the floor with surprising ease. My knees are shaky but his firm grip on my waist steers me back into my bedroom where he lays me down in the bed again.

"Sleep," he says, touches my cheek with the back of his hand and makes to move away, but my hand pulls at his arm.

"Stay," I croak.

Kurt cocks his head to the side and studies my expression. I must look so pathetic.

"I'm not leaving until three. That's when I have to pick your sister up," he says, one side of his mouth upturned. He tries to pry my hand from his arm but I cling on harder.

"Stay." I hold his gaze meaningfully. He looks from me and the door helplessly "I need to do my homework." His voice is small.

I pull at his arm and he makes a half hearted act of resistance, only to be pulled near just as I want. He kisses my heated forehead; eyes squeeze shut and the guilt is back. I know I'm pushing him too far. I know how he feels about me and I'm taking advantage of it. And my aching head doesn't see any problem with kissing that long white expanse of neck before me. He gasps when I do so and pulls away as quickly as it happens.

"Blaine," he warns, but there's no venom in his voice, just a whole lot of pain.

I turn away and squish my face into my pillow, exasperated at my own selfishness. "Sorry," I mumble.

His weight leaves the bed and the springs groan in relief. I sigh at the loss, only to be confused when the bed dips on the other side of me. I peak at him lying on his side beside me and open my mouth to ask what he's doing but he cuts me off with his finger over my lips.

"Sleep. I'll stay until I have to go," he whispers.

I nod and close my eyes again. I can feel his gaze on me and I'm thankful my cheeks are already inflamed or they'd be blushing bright right now. I shiver and snuggle into the duvet. He doesn't touch me again as I drift to sleep, but his presence is enough, his quiet voice singing a familiar song my Mom used to play a lot when I was a kid.

"_You say. Stay._

_You say I only hear what I want to._

_And I thought what I felt was simple,_

_And I thought that I don't belong,_

_And now that I am leaving,_

_Now I know that I did something wrong cos I missed you."_

I burrow my head into the pillow as his voice soothes me into rest.

_Yeah, yeah – I missed you._

* * *

><p>"It – is – none – of – your – business."<p>

"Does he even know its' happening?"

"No, and I plan to keep it that way."

I'm roused by the hiss of voices and shift under the covers. I pull it over my head in a bid to ignore the words as they drift in through my open bedroom door from the hall.

"He'd want to know."

Kurt, my mind supplies as I attempt to let sleep claim me again.

"How the hell would you know? You've known my brother what, two months?"

"Long enough to know he'd do anything to help you."

I give up and sneak my hand towards my bedside table. It's 4.30. I must have slept through Kurt leaving to pick up my sister. With a curious peak round my bed covers I can see Saffron's small figure stood in the hallway just within my view, dark curls tumbling down her back. Her arms are crossed.

"He can't help me."

"Wow, you're stubborn."

"Look, being in love with my brother does not give you the right to tell me what's best for him." There's a long silence and I can just imagine her triumphant smirk.

"I'm not."

"Sure … I saw you kiss him last week."

My eyes widen and I lie back down. My heart is in my throat as I listen in on the pregnant silence that follows.

"What?" Kurt stammers.

"Yeah Sherlock, you heard me. Dark windows don't completely hide you. Don't worry; I made sure Dad didn't see. He won't string your balls ups for fooling around with him. But I will tell him if I have to."

"Then I'll tell Blaine."

"It's not your secret to tell. You said that!"

"Yes and what happens between Blaine and I isn't _you're_ secret to tell either," Kurt counters.

"Touché," Saffron relents.

"Look, I better go. Just, please consider talking to him about it."

She shakes her head slowly. "He's been through enough, Kurt. He's happy here. I don't want to get in the way of that."

"I figured it out within minutes. He'll spot the problem eventually."

She sighs. "B's never been very observant."

Kurt doesn't dispute that. "Let me know if he's sick tomorrow and I'll take you to school okay?"

"I can walk."

Kurt comes into view and I squint at his ponderous expression. "You know Blaine says you are the strong one, but I think he mistakes strength for stubbornness."

She pulls something out of her hair and flicks it away. "Finally we agree on something."

"Statistically it was bound to happen."

Kurt moves out of view again and I listen to his boots as they clomp against the creaky stairs. Saffron moves to my door and I close my eyes and attempt to even my breathing out so I appear asleep. She leans against the doorway as Kurt calls from downstairs.

"Tell him."

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Song is Stay by Lisa Loeb aka 90s 1 hit wonder. **

**I'm thinking of using a Wicked song in this fic at some point soon but can't decide on which one. As long as your mine is too obvious a choice. Maybe; I'm not that Girl or Popular haha. Ideas?**


	12. The Elephant in the Room

**A/N: Hello. I am so sorry this took so long. There have been a lot of ideas in my head from the beginning and I took time to plan them out until the end more solidly. Also I got a new job in London and it takes me an hour and a half to get to work, and the same back so I get up at 6.30am and get home normally about 7.30pm by which point I want to chill out rather than write more. I've been writing a lot on the train though so a lot of Chapter thirteen is already written so fingers crossed it wont take so long.**

**I forgot to put the US spell check on when I wrote this chapter so there are probably a lot of UK spellings in it. I'll sort them out when I have time.**

**Massive thank you to those who reviewed, I have seen them all and I'm grateful to you for taking the time to comment :) And to the new favourites and Story Alerts, thanks for reading too. It's over 8,000 words to make up for the hiatus between updates. So here we go.**

**Disclaimer: Nope I don't own Glee. If I did Klaine would spend the whole time making out. I do however own Saffron and Lea who makes her debut in this chapter (not based on Lea Michele in any way shape or form)**

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Twelve - The Elephant in the Room<strong>

The tap of my pen against the open pages of my textbook reverberates around the quiet and almost abandoned Library. With the rest of the students in the cafeteria or walking the corridors, no one but the Librarian and I are here. My history textbook hardly engages my busy mind as I have re-read the third paragraph from the top a dozen times without it making any sense.

It's Monday. Mom made me take Friday off school as well to make sure I recovered. This caused two problems for me. Number one; I couldn't put my plan to keep an eye on Kurt and find out once and for all what Karofsky has been doing, into practise. The second and most annoying side effect is the shed load of homework I now have from my two day 'vacation', as my history teacher nastily referred to my absence as. I had no idea sickness counted as a holiday. Silly me.

Said amount of homework also means I don't have time to keep an eye on Kurt until I've caught up. Hence why I am currently sat in the library agonising over the large pile I've made a minimal dent in.

The Librarian glares sharply at my pen tapping hand and I still my fingers. I'd like to see her concentrate when her mind refuses to focus on anything but that which is worrying it, no matter how often she demands it behave.

I don't know what I'm more concerned about – Kurt being hurt and bullied right under my nose without having the power to stop it, or the fact my sister is keeping something from me. The worst part is, whatever it is, I supposedly ought to have picked up on it. And Kurt found out so easily. I feel a stab of something hot and prickly in my stomach. Something I normally only feel when Saffron gets some sort of gratification from my parents I didn't receive when I did the exact same thing. Or when I look at Jade and Matt's, argumentative but easy transition from friends to a couple.

Is it possible to be jealous of your best friend's relationship with your sister? It sounded like they talk more than I knew. I roll my eyes at myself. This is ridiculous, they were more or less snarling at one another; therefore I wouldn't call their friendship – if that's what you'd call it – a threat to my relationships with either of them. Let's call this version of the feeling I'm getting, continuous spikes of resentment. I'm resentful of the fact my younger sister and my bo- best friend have both kept something from me. And while I have a fairly good idea of what Kurt's is, I'm stumped on Saffron's.

Is she hurt? Is someone blackmailing her? Has someone said something about me and she's trying to cover it up? Am I wrong to think I have the right to know? Should I tell Dad? What if Dad's in on it? Oh god that's a horrible thought – maybe Mom, Dad and Saffron have decided I'm too delicate to know certain things so they've gone and covered something up from me like ... like I'm actually living in the Truman show and everything that has ever happened to me so far in my life has been a set up –

Shut up brain! I think too much.

I cross my arms over the textbook before me and rest my head face first in the gap, nose pressed in my fresh and laundered sleeves.

"Why are you holed up in here?" Santana's raspy voice calls from ahead of me.

I look up, startled to find her sat across the table from me. She looks the same as ever, hair tide back in a dark ponytail, Cheerio's uniform lightly pressed. The only thing out of place is the look of ... is that concern? I'm almost creeped out by its presence. She drums her fingers across the table lightly, and I realise I haven't answered her question.

"Homework."

"Bullshit."

"How can you tell?"

"You mean besides the fact, you've been stuck on that page for the last half hour? You're pissed about something. And not _homework_ pissed. People pissed."

"Am not," I say petulantly.

"You so are."

"I'm not!"

"So why are you currently gnawing to death a perfectly good pen with your teeth?" She looks pointedly at the pen between my lips.

My teeth freeze against the plastic, and my eyes cross in a bid to see the guilty object. I hadn't even realised. I lift it out of my mouth with a pop and busy myself writing any old gibberish to make her think I'm working for real this time. She doesn't move. She does however examine the notebook upside down.

"'_I want potato tots. They are yummy. I hate this stupid cafeteria for not serving them?'_" she reads aloud. She looks amused as I cup my hand over the page in embarrassment. "You can blame Mercedes for that. I wouldn't eat those anyway, hot stuff. You're hot now but those things will go straight to your ass."

I drag my hand through my hair distractedly.

"Have I ever mentioned what a terrible actor you are?"

My eyes flicker to her in irritation.

She shrugs. "Just saying."

"No you haven't said it before. Kurt has though." I try to keep my voice neutral, but the bite that accompanies his name gives me away.

"I thought this mood might be a Kurt thing." Santana lifts out of her seat and perches delicately against my notebook. I slam my pen down against the wood surface, losing all pretence of calm.

"Do you mind?"

"Not at all," she quips.

I lean back in my seat and stare at her expectantly.

"Whatever this is has been bothering you for a while. Normally I wouldn't care, but you're so mad I haven't gotten my mack on in like over a week. Either get over it, or let me help you get over it."

I rub my eyes tiredly and plonk my head on the desk beside her. "What do you want?"

She's blunt. "Sex."

My shoulders stiffen – I hope she doesn't notice.

"Jesus, you are so frigid." The comments bite is lessened by her hand stroking through my dishevelled hair in an almost affectionate gesture. For a moment I'm able to imagine it is Kurt's hand and I shiver. It's different though. Kurt's fingers dig in and massage my head with gentle circles. Santana's fingers ruffle through the hair in quick, fleeting brushes.

"Gee, thanks," I deadpan.

"It'll make you feel better about whatever Kurt did," she reasons.

I look up at that. She's right; it probably would make me feel better ... if I was attracted to girls. A familiar swoop in my stomach, a feeling I associate with guilt is squashed down as quickly as possible and I rest my head on my hand.

"What makes you think he's done something?" I hedge.

"Blaine, I don't care what's going on with you and Lady Face, okay? You wouldn't be the first straight guy he's had a thing for."

She would care if she knew – wait – "What?"

She rolls her eyes. "I'm not stupid. I get that you'd rather not think about it. Finn was the same."

Finn was the same how? I think over what she said before. Kurt had a crush on his step brother? "Huh?"

"He'll get over it..."

"Santana I – I think you've got it wrong-"

"- Oh please! Even that Chinese Warbler thought you were a couple. He hangs over you so much you may as well wear him as a necklace. And you do nothing to discourage him. The more you hang with him and let him do it, the more this whole school is going to think you're a flaming homo too. And how is that going to make me look? They'll think I turned you into one."

I gape at her. I hadn't thought of that. Do people assume I'm gay because I'm close to Kurt? Is that what people used to think about Matt when he hung out with me away from Jade? Oh, she's still talking -

"- and normally I would take pride in scaring someone off my sex but can you see where I am coming from? People know we're sort of a thing, but considering I haven't bragged about nailing you yet, they're going to know you aren't putting out."

I blink at her. It occurs to me I may have been cast as the girl in this relationship. _I'm_ not putting out for _her_? "Shouldn't that be the other way around?" I ask.

She leers at me and strokes my cheek almost fondly. "Aww, it's kind of sweet how naive you are. Imma spell this out for you." She leans toward my ear and looks around us for any eavesdroppers. "I have nailed every guy in this school except for you and Kurt. I've got a rep Frodo, so no; it shouldn't be the other way around because everyone knows I would have had you by now if there wasn't some obstacle in the way. You don't wear that purity ring nonsense, so the world can only assume either you are frigid or gay."

I gulp.

"So this is what's going to happen." She leans back again. "You are going to rent a motel room for us. Make sure it is at least four stars. We'll arrive; do the nasty, order room service. After that I'll tell Brittany we've finally done it, the whole school will find out, and people will stop thinking you and Kurt take baths together. Okay pumpkin?"

"Has it ever occurred to you I might not be ready for this?" I'm ashamed of the feeble attempt but I know she isn't going to back down. I'm either going to have to tell her the truth and risk her blabbing it to the world, or go through with her plan. Frankly I'd rather look pathetic right now.

"What are you, nine?"

I sigh. "Can I think about it?"

"Sure, whatever helps you sleep at night? In the mean time you might want to do something about the leech that's attached itself to your hip, because as much as I'm weirdly fond of Lady Face, I don't appreciate him hanging all over you, like a lovesick puppy."

I scowl at her. "He's not a leech. He's my best friend around here. And would you stop calling him Lady Face? Just because he's gay doesn't make him a girl," I snap.

She puts her hands up in surrender. "I'm going to let that little outburst go, because you're clearly having a stressful day. But he so is a leech."

I grind my teeth together. How do I get her to see his feelings for me aren't a problem in the way she sees' it? That it isn't the reason we are so distant. There's no way I'm telling Santana of all people the whole truth. Yes I could probably mention the fact he appears to be keeping secrets and talking about me to my little sister behind my back, but the kiss – the fact he refuses to be with me because I'm in the closet – no way.

"Look, I couldn't tell you if Kurt likes me that way or not," I lie. "That's not what's wrong."

"Well spit it out hobbit, I'm going to lose interest in ten seconds."

I roll my eyes at her and pull the chair beside me out. She hops off the desk and takes the seat.

"I'm worried about him," I begin. "You must have noticed he gets harassed around here."

She shrugs. "Sure, I have, but we're all bullied. Well, not so much me. Being from Lima Heights Adjacent has its perks."

I sigh and rub my face with the tips of my fingers, catching the librarian's interested stare. "I think it's getting worse for him but he's not telling me."

"Well why would he? I mean, yeah you are joined at the hip and he's got the hots' for you – don't deny it. Even you aren't that blind – but he hasn't known you that long. If he's going to tell anyone it'll be Mercedes, and she hasn't said a word. The girl's mouth is bigger than Britt's, which means he's not told anyone."

I worry my bottom lip between my teeth in thought. I guess the only way I'm going to find out is if he tells me.

* * *

><p>I skip Glee club after school in favour of doing my homework. It's only when I enter the Library though, that I decide I really don't want to sit in there another moment. I'd rather do it at home, so I text Saffron to ask if she has cheerleading practise, stuffing my phone back in my satchel again, only for it to buzz upon getting into the driver's seat. I frown and fish it out, slightly confused by the speed of her reply. She always takes at least 20 minutes.<p>

_Cheerleading's cancelled. Be right out._

I blink in surprise. I'd planned on making my way to her school and waiting around there doing my work in the car if she still had to stay.

She's not in the parking lot when I pull in so I park near the entrance and get out peeking around for any sign of her. I can see the sports field to the left of the lot and two groups of kids are playing soccer. I watch with a wistful smile. I used to love soccer. David Beckham was my first crush, if I recall correctly.

"Hi Blaine." I jump and spin around to see a small young girl with long blonde hair up in a ponytail stood beside me.

"Uh hello?" I look around just in case she is talking to a different Blaine, but no one else is in sight. "Who are you?" I ask.

She laughs. "I'm Lea. Saffron's probably mentioned me."

I try to arrange my face into one of comprehension rather than the confusion that actually circulates my head right now. I can say with complete honesty that my sister has never mentioned a girl called Lea ... or anyone for that matter.

"Oh right, yeah. Hi Lea. Erm, out of curiosity, how do you know I know Saff?"

"You are her brother, right?"

"Yeah..." I say slowly. "But I've never seen you, so how have you seen me?"

"I've seen you pick her up, silly." She curls the end of her ponytail around her finger and steps uncomfortably close to me. I manoeuvre away from her under the pretence of seeking out my sister in the lot.

"Where is she anyway? She said she'd be right out."

"She's ... around."

"Okay, well if you see her can you tell her I'm here," I ask and turn away. She doesn't take her cue to leave.

"How old are you?"

"Seventeen." I give her an odd look.

"That's awesome." Her smile widens. "I'm head cheerleader, you know."

I purse my lips in confusion. Did I ask for her life story? "Good for you. My sister used to be at her old school," I say out of politeness more than anything.

"Yeah I heard."

"Fuck off Lea." I turn to an out of breath Saffron who has materialised beside her. I withhold the impulse to correct her use of language. I don't want to embarrass her. She bends over and places her hands on her knees inhaling hard. "Sorry I'm late Blaine. I had to ... do something."

I wave it off and look between the two girls. Lea has an extremely large smile on her face, but Saffron's expression is a fraction short of murderous. Something she said to me her first day of school springs to mind.

_"What happened?"_

_"Head cheerleaders a bitch, that's what."_

Ah. "Well it was nice meeting you, Lea." I tug at Saffron's sleeve and she gets in the car without a backward glance. Lea flutters her fingers at me as I pull out of the parking space and she heads towards the field where the soccer match is taking place.

"So, that's the bitchy head cheerleader?" I say as I drive around the parked cars towards the exit.

"Uh huh."

"What's she still doing here?"

"Don't give a shit."

"Language!" I scold.

She rolls her eyes and heaves a heavy sigh through her nose.

It's as I pull towards the main road that I notice the group of girls dressed in matching blue uniforms walk out onto the soccer pitch.

* * *

><p>I'm sat on my bed with my homework spread out around me when the screaming downstairs starts that evening, and I pause my hand over the page I write on. There's been a raised murmur that floats through my open bedroom door ever since I heard the door slam shut signalling my dad's arrival home from work. But I couldn't hear any words until now.<p>

"How do you think it makes me feel when you treat me like this?" Dad's voice snarls. "I'm trying."

"Well, try harder!"

"I earn more than anyone in this god damn house. Fuck me, Blaine hasn't bothered trying to get a job!"

"Why should he? It was _you_ who moved us here. _You_ who forced us to buy another god damn house! _You_, who forced this crippling mortgage on us!"

"I did it for us!"

"You did it for you!"

I jump off my bed and slam the door shut, to muffle the words, but it's not enough. The sound still comes through the wood. I jam my ear buds into my ears and turn my Ipod on full blast and lean against my desk a moment and try to calm my racing mind.

It doesn't take a genius to work out that my parents are having money issues, and I groan from the wave of nauseous guilt that travels up my spine and aches in my chest. It's my stupid god damn fault we moved here, and Mom's blaming Dad. Saffron blames Dad. Hell even I blame him sometimes. But he's has a point. Why haven't I tried to get a job?

I'm an idiot who doesn't think. That's why.

I look out of my window at the familiar sight of Kurt sprawled on his bed, books spread out around him and I smile. My thoughts ease as I allow myself a shameless look. The only time I ever catch a glimpse of Kurt in any state other than immaculate is when he is in his room. When I spy him through my window at his most relaxed.

I like this version of Kurt.

Kurt turns on his side until his body faces the window and positions his book so it is at a better angle. I lick my lips hungrily. I devour the sight of his lean body stretched out, and the longing returns. I feel less and less creepy the more I do this. I haven't allowed myself to look in the last week or so because it's painful but right now it's kind of a ... nice distraction.

As if he can feel my eyes on him, he looks through the window and squints in the light at my window. He stares back and gives me a small wave.

I remove my ear buds and open my mouth to call out to him-

SMASH!

I jump out of my skin and run to my bedroom door to throw it open. I peek out at the corridor and listen intently to the sounds downstairs, my gut twisted in panic.

"... so clumsy!" Mom's voice is venomous.

"Oh I suppose that was my fault too," Dad's tone is testy.

"My favourite ornament ... it had to be that?" Mom bites back.

I close my door again with a quiet snap and lean against it, breathing hard. Kurt is stood now in his room and I groan when I see that my bedroom window and his are both open slightly. What's the likelihood he hasn't heard anything?

He scrambles around for something on his desk. My feet take me towards the window on instinct and I watch him stare at his desk intently for a few moments. He holds up a pad of paper that reads;

_Is everything okay over there?_

I cringe. It's bad enough when my parents fight like this. It's even worse when someone else hears it too.

I nod. He writes something else down: _Do you want to come over and watch a movie? I recently bought Aladdin._

"IT'S NOT FAIR WHEN YOU DO THIS TO ME JOHN!"

I flinch and stare uneasily at the door. I can't exactly walk through the house while they are at each other's throats. But I can't pass up an offer of sanctuary. Especially from Kurt, when our friendship is so fragile. And I really want to watch Aladdin. I haven't seen it for a few years now. My thoughtful gaze lands on the window again. I could just climb out the window again, I suppose.

I rummage through my bag and write: _Be right over, don't laugh,_ on my pad when I locate it, holding it up for him to see.

Kurt cocks his head in interest, and I try to ignore him and open the latch of my window. Once it is thrown wide open, I peek at Kurt's wide eyes as I launch myself off the ledge onto the roof of the shed below me again. This time my aim is better and I don't fall off like my last attempt. A feat I'm very grateful about as Kurt watches from above. I clamber a little awkwardly off the roof and onto the side path and gesture up at Kurt to come downstairs. He grins at me and disappears from view.

Once I'm safely in his room I shift awkwardly from foot to foot. The last time I was here we kissed, and our friendship got weird. Kurt gestures for me to make myself at home on the bed which he has cleared of all books and I settle against one set of his pillows as he puts the DVD in the player and sits beside me.

"Why are your parent's yelling?" he asks.

I open my mouth to answer but catch myself just in time and snap it shut again.

Kurt groans and rubs his forehead. "Sorry, that was rude. It's none of my business. Yeah ... sorry."

I smile and rub his knee. "It's okay. Can we not talk? I don't really want to think right now," I ask.

Thinking is bad. Thinking makes me feel guilty, about a lot of things. Mom. Dad. Saffron. Kurt. Santana.

Kurt looks relieved by my request and I bite my lip in confusion. Maybe he doesn't want me here, and he invited me over out of politeness.

"Or I could just go..."

"No! I mean no. No stay. We'll watch Aladdin and won't talk."

I nod and let out the breath I had withheld. I don't want the elephant in the room to be addressed at all. It's too soon.

I snuggle down beside him as the opening sequence of the movie plays, and before long I can feel my eyes drooping. I blink them open with force and concentrate on the action and not the way Kurt's thigh brushes against mine when he shifts his position.

Aladdin has just arrived at the palace with the genie, carpet and Abu, when I feel something solid land on my shoulder. I tense and look down at Kurt's soft head of hair that rests there. My heart feels like it's trying to rival a Salsa beat in my throat and I swallow nervously and peak down to see if his eyes are open.

They're closed. I don't dare move as he lets out a long sigh and curls his arm around my stomach. A simultaneous swoop and clench below my navel sends adrenaline coursing through me as his head rubs against my shoulder and I force my unseeing eyes to look at the screen again. Blood thrums in my ears and his grips tighter around my waist. I couldn't leave even if I wanted to now.

And I don't move my stiff limbs until the end credits roll and I have to wake him up if I'm going to get home before curfew. I gawk at how beautiful he is for a few minutes, and breathe in his familiar fragrance. Then my conscience decides my leer is about to move into weird territory and I shake him awake by the shoulder. His eyes flutter open, and take a while to focus on the scene before him and lastly – me.

He lifts his head off me like I burned him and rubs his eyes. "Hi," he speaks.

"Hi. Sorry I didn't want to wake you but ..."

He groans and I chuckle at his embarrassment. "I'm sorry," he says. "I didn't mean to fall asleep."

"It's fine. There are worse things happening lately than you using my shoulder as a pillow," I reason.

Kurt nods his agreement and a sad grimace takes over his features. I wonder what thoughts were provoked by my words; the bullying ... his dad's heart attack from three months ago ... me?

"I need to get a job," I admit to take his mind away from the thoughts that mar his happiness.

"Really? That'll look good on a college application," he agrees.

"...yeah." It's always nice when others supply a reason on your behalf without your need to lie. He smiles in understanding and I know he knows the real reason. Damn my parents are loud when they argue. I appreciate his show of ignorance though.

"I better go," I say after a long pause.

"Yeah ... okay."

I make to stand but he grabs my arm. "Hey, I-" he swallows hard. "I if you need to talk about anything that's bothering you, I'm still here. I know I might be – be part of the problem sometimes but I – I don't want you to feel like you can't talk to me."

I offer a grateful smile in return. "I know. Same applies to you." I catch his eye pointedly and he dips his head.

"See you," I say.

I don't wait for his reply as I make my way out of his room and descend the stairs. I call a goodbye to Burt as I pass.

"See ya' kid!"

I wonder up my empty driveway (where did Dad's car go?) and rest my ear against the door to listen for any noise.

Silence.

I take a deep breath and slot the key in the lock. All the lights are out downstairs. I close the door quietly and walk past the living room door to see a figure sat on the dark sofa.

"Mom?" I stand awkwardly at the threshold. Her head turns in my direction and she squints at me.

"You okay?" I take a tentative step towards her.

"I'm fine, Blaine," she says cheerlessly. Her dark shrouded face looks smudged with clumps of mascara but I can't tell for sure.

"Why are you sat in the dark?"

"It's a school night. Go to bed, baby."

I clear my throat to protest and offer her a cup of tea when a flash of blinding light through the window signals the return of Dad. Even in the dark I see Mom stiffen.

"Blaine, please go to bed."

I nod wordlessly, watch her for a few more moments and make my way up the stairs. My door closes as the front door opens and I let out a breath I didn't know I was holding.

"There he is."

I yell out in surprise and jam my back against the door handle. Saffron snorts at me and I grit my teeth together. She's sat on my bed, hand covered over her mouth.

"Jesus!" I exclaim. "Warn a guy next time."

She lifts her arms up in a sign of truce. "Nah, this was more fun. Where have you been?"

"Kurt's," I answer.

"Figures," she says dully.

I try not to notice the tone. "How long have you been in here?" I take my cardigan and jeans off and pull my pyjama pants and t-shirt on quickly.

"About an hour," she says with a shrug. "I didn't know you were gone but I knew it was near curfew so I stayed."

I look out the window and can see that Kurt's curtains are still open. What's the likelihood she didn't see me over there? Not likely.

"When did they stop fighting?" I ask.

She rests her forehead on my shoulder and I twine my fingers in her long, thick hair. "About forty minutes ago. That's why I-"

"-came in here," I finish for her. "I know. Sorry I wasn't here. Kurt offered me a respite from the yelling and I took it."

"Yeah about that." She picks up the notepad that is still on my bed and holds it up so I can see the message I wrote for Kurt. "You two do know you have cell phones, right?"

I pull her hair playfully.

"Ow! Seriously it's so Taylor Swift it's nauseating."

Another yell makes us both jump again.

Saffron trembles and I put my arm around her. "They'll stop," I soothe. "They always do."

She nods. "Can I stay in here tonight?"

I don't answer. Instead I gesture towards my pillows and lift my covers up as invitation for her. She smiles gratefully and climbs underneath them and I slide in next to her. "We can do top and tail, if you want?" I offer. That's what we used to do when she was really little and didn't want to sleep so close to me.

"Nah. Even at your height your feet reach my head. I don't want to smell that."

I pinch her and she giggles.

"Go to sleep," I say.

Down below us the fighting continues and Saffron snuggles closer to me. I rub her shoulder.

"They'll be okay, right?" Her small tired voice tugs at my heart.

I kiss her forehead. "Sleep."

* * *

><p>"Are you sure you're back to health, Curly? You look unwell."<p>

I walk through the threshold of the chemistry lab and out into the hall, with Mercedes in tow, adjusting my bag strap and glance at her with a resigned smile. She's the fourth member of the Glee club to ask me that question today.

"Yeah, I'm fine. Just didn't sleep well last night, that's all," I say; a half-truth. I really didn't sleep well. Saff is a kicker.

"Okay, well if you need to talk about something – like why you and Kurt seem to spend less time together, for example – I'm here," she offers.

I smile at her warmly. After Santana's warning of her blabber-mouth however, that is never going to happen. "Thanks Mercedes. I'm fine really. And there is nothing wrong with me and Kurt. I think there might be something wrong with Kurt, but our friendship is fine."

"Damn," Mercedes said as we reach her locker. We're on the way to Glee club so we may as well walk together. "I thought you might know what's eating him. I just assumed you guys had a fight the other week and that's why he's acting so ... weird."

"Weird?" I raise one eyebrow in question.

She flings her Chemistry text book inside her locker. "Yeah, weird. Like he keeps jumping and snaps at me for no reason. I asked him if he could go get Finn out of the locker room because Rachel was pissing me off, yesterday and he yelled at me to do it myself. I mean, what's up with that?"

I wince. It's pretty obvious to me why Kurt wants to stay clear of the locker room, but Mercedes doesn't know about the kiss Karofsky inflicted on him. I can't tell her.

"I thought he was over his crush on Finn, but maybe he isn't and then there's y-" she breaks off. "He seems so unhappy," she finishes.

"Yeah."

So I'm not the only one to notice he's upset then. And unlike Santana, Mercedes is worried too.

We walk into the choir room and Mercedes settles herself in the chair on the right of Kurt's usual spot. I look back at the door but he hasn't arrived yet. Santana flutters her fingers at me from the back rafter and gestures at the seat beside her. I gulp and force down the guilt and nerves, remembering our conversation at yesterday lunch time. I haven't decided whether I'll go through with it yet. I shake my head imperceptibly and settle myself on the only vacant seat next to Kurt's empty one. I can feel Santana's curious gaze on me but try to ignore it. She must know why I want to sit next to Kurt surely? I told her I was worried about his bullying. If she thought someone was hurting Brittany I know she wouldn't leave her side.

Mr Shue walks into the choir room and claps his hands together. "Alright guys!"

I check my watch. It's past 3.30. Kurt should be here by now.

"It's Tuesday and sectionals is on Friday so we need to talk competition."

"Oh good," Rachel says and sits up straighter in her chair. "What song are Finn and I going to sing?"

"You're not getting a solo at sectionals, Rachel," Mr Shue says with so much finality, the entire Glee club gapes at him.

"Wait I'm not?" Rachel splutters.

"No."

"Finally!" Mercedes smile is wide. "So what am I singing?"

"Actually, I decided that as the winner of our duets competition, that Sam and Quinn will take the leads," Mr Shue announces. I raise my eyebrows in question and he adds. "The duets happened before you joined, Blaine."

I nod and settle back in my seat, confused by Rachel's livid expression.

"Ken and Barbie? Finn, do something," she hisses at her boyfriend.

He stares wide eyed at her and addresses Mr Shue. "Look I'm all for boosting the team moral and letting everyone have a turn, but that's for practise. You can't take out the two leading players before the big game. We'll be crushed."

"Gee thanks for the vote of confidence," Quinn says sarcastically.

"I'm thinking about the team," Finn defends.

"You are such an arrogant hypocrite," Santana snaps. "This club ain't all about you, Frankenbeans, so shut up."

I glance at Tina sat next to me who leans over and whispers, "Finn and Rachel always get the leads in competition. This is kind of a big deal."

"Why are you punishing me, Mr Shue? I work harder than anyone in this damn club!"

"ENOUGH!" Mr Shue snaps. The room falls silent. Rachel throws herself back down in her seat and crosses her arms over her chest in defiance. "Thank you. Now, Santana will also be singing a solo."

Brittany claps loudly.

"Also, our competition is your average stool choir. Their singing is incredible, but they don't move, which is why I am featuring Mike and Brittany's amazing dance moves this year, during Santana's number, to give us an edge."

"Where's Kurt?" Artie asks from the other side of a fist pumping Brittany.

Mr Shue seems taken aback by the abrupt change of topic and everyone's eyes land on Kurt's still vacant spot.

"He was with me in English," Tina says. "And then Azimio threw a slushie at him so he went to the bathroom. That was fifteen minutes ago."

I stare at her in shock. And she left him on his own?

"Maybe he went home," Sam suggests.

"No he hasn't text me to say he'll be at home," Finn says, checking through the messages on his iphone.

"I'll go look for him," I say and stand quickly.

I vaguely register Mr Shue telling me to sit down but I'm already out the door. I make my way towards the chemistry girl's bathroom. That tends to be the one he favor's over all others. I'm almost there when I hear a loud yell and a slam, and my pace quickens. I run around the corner and burst into the bathroom I was aiming for and pause at the scene in front of me.

My heart lurches up my throat at the view of Kurt slumped against a cubicle door. His usual immaculate hair is wet with traces of blue dye streaked through. His chest heaves as he stares back at me with wide tearful eyes, Karofsky towering over him with his fist raised.

"Fuck off, Hobbit." Karofsky snarls and punches Kurt in the stomach. He cries out in pain and doubles over.

I'm over to them in three strides and push at Karofksy with a strength that surprises even myself. He slams back into a sink and I place myself between him and Kurt. Karofsky's face contorts in rage and he bites out,

"Walk away hero. This has nothing to do with you."

"It has everything to do with me when you're beating the crap out of my best friend," I snarl back at him.

"Blaine, don't," Kurt says from behind me.

"What are you a faggot too, Hobbit?" He leers down at me, and I straighten my spine in a bid to give myself as much height as possible.

"No more so than you, it would seem."

"Blaine." I ignore the warning in Kurt's tone.

"What the fuck's that supposed to mean?" Karofsky looks at me and catches Kurt's eye behind me.

"Kurt told me what you did."

Karofsky's sneer falters a moment, but its back in place a second later. "Told you what?" He stares accusingly behind me and I step to the side to try and hide Kurt from him, in case he makes a sudden move for him. I know it's ridiculous, considering Kurt is half a head taller than me, so it doesn't conceal him as such.

"TOLD YOU WHAT!"

"You kissed me," Kurt breathes behind me.

Karofsky's beady eyes snap to Kurt, and I hear Kurt's sharp intake of breath at the venom behind the glare. Karofsky opens and closes his mouth a few times, and then his expression clears like a slate being wiped and shrugs his shoulders. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"He wouldn't make that up," I say coldly.

He holds my eye and chews his pursed lip. "He's lying."

"You forced a kiss on him," I carry on. "I don't care if that was a kind of sick joke or if you're in the closet, you still did it, and it has to stop!"

He lunges forward and grabs me by the scruff of the neck. I yelp.

"Do not mess with me, Hobbit!" he growls. His breath reeks of chilidogs from the cafeteria. Is this what Kurt tasted that day?

"I guess you're confused. I can understand that," I splutter.

Karofsky slams my back against the wall of the bathroom and my head knocks against it. Vision is lost for a few moments as I try to focus on how a forceful hand yanks Karofsky's fist off my shirt and propels him backwards into the sinks. Next moment a livid Kurt has reversed our roles in the space of a few seconds and stands between me and Karofsky with a ferocious glare.

"You have to stop this!" Kurt shrieks.

I slide down the wall and survey the scene – how Karofksy stares at Kurt with a bewildered grimace, like he's looking at him for the first time. And how Kurt shakes with either fear or rage above me. I think it might be rage.

Karofsky comes back to himself, and pushes off the sinks to stand face to face with Kurt. "If you tell anyone else, Fairy, the next time you are alone..." He prods Kurt's chest with his finger.

I rise to my feet unsteadily.

"I will make good on my promise. I will. Kill. You. Is that clear?"

And before I or Kurt can react he spins on his heel and marches out of the girl's bathroom.

I lean against the wall, stunned by what I just witnessed. What I got involved in again. I never fought back in New Jersey. I ran. A lot. But I never got into fights with any of the jocks at school. Not Peter. Not his best friends. Not Jacob Harrison next door. I don't understand where this side of me has come from. And Karofsky just ... he said he'll. He –

"He's threatened to kill you before," I realise aloud. It isn't a question. His words were clear.

Kurt takes a shaky breath and lowers himself to the ground. I let myself drop back to the floor beside him and he curls up into a ball and leans his head back against the side of the entrance to the cubicles. His shoulders quiver and I reach out to try and calm him down. He shrugs me off. I drop my hand.

"That's what you haven't been telling me," I realise aloud.

Kurt blinks up at me, eyes full of questions.

"You've been getting more and more withdrawn," I explain. "You look tired and upset all the time. At first I thought it was just about ... us." The reminder leaves a bad taste in my mouth. "But then you flinch when anyone touches your back and ..."

"Yes, he threatened to kill me a few weeks ago." I blanch at the cold tone directed at me. "He said if I told anyone he would kill me. But I'd already told you."

I rub my hand through my hair in irritation. "Why didn't you tell me? I would have ..."

"That's why I didn't tell you about it," Kurt exclaims. "I didn't want you to confront him. I still don't want you to confront him, but you went and did it anyway!"

"Kurt-"

"- Because he'd know that I'd told someone if you did it! And now you went and told him anyway and he's going to- to-" he chokes back a sob and buries his head in his knee.

A lump rises up my throat and I gulp it down. I can't stand the defeated slump of his shoulders, the trembling, the way his usual immaculate hair is so messed up. The back of his shirt is damp from when he rinsed the slushie out of his hair, and I think I can see the harsh purple outline of a bruise through the stretched fabric of his hunched back. I want to hug him. I want to help him. Tell him it's going to be okay. I can't think of anything worth saying though. All I can think to say is,

"You don't know that."

"YES I DO!" Kurt bellows and jumps to his feet to pace the floor. "You just couldn't leave alone could you? I can't deal with this right now."

"Kurt, I didn't know he would react like that," I say pleadingly. My eyes fill with tears and I blink them back furiously. This is no time to cry; he needs me, not the other way around.

"What did you think would happen, Blaine? That you would swoop in and save the day? That I would fall into your arms and cry hysterically and be all, "My hero," and we'd live happily ever?"

"What are you even talking about?"

"I was handling everything just fine. I don't need you to fight my battles for me. Which should be very clear to you now considering I had to save your ass in the end," Kurt snarls.

"Kurt-"

"What were you thinking?"

"I – I was thinking that I couldn't bear to see you being hurt by him," I say weakly.

Kurt laughs humourlessly and throws himself on the floor again. "You just don't think before you act. Oh I know you mean well," he adds at my indignant glare. "But you don't consider what your actions will do. He knows I told you because you told him!"

I shake my head at him in annoyance, "What do you want me to say? I'm sorry? Because I am. I'm so sorry! But I wouldn't have told him if I'd known you didn't want me to. If you'd just talked to me I wouldn't have mentioned it!"

Kurt's glare is murderous. "So now this is my fault?"

I bite back the words, '_yes it is your fault_,' and take a deep breath instead to calm my nerves.

"I just want to help," is what I say after a pause.

"You can't."

"You can't do this by yourself."

"Yes I can."

"Liar."

"Oh my god, just stop!" Kurt wails, and his heads back in his hands. "You have no idea."

"How would you know if I have any idea?" I growl.

Kurt looks up at that. And comprehension clouds his eyes like he realises what he's just said. "Oh..." He breathes. "Sorry I forgot."

"Yeah." I suck my front teeth in a bid to not yell all my frustrations at him.

This conversation has gone so beyond Karofsky. It feels like the elephant in the room is stomping about, trumpeting for our attention, like we're not fighting because of the bullying. We're fighting because of every pent up feeling that's materialised between us in the last two weeks. And what we really want to shout about is our non-existent relationship. Kurt seems to have come to the same conclusion because his eyes have softened, and he looks like himself again. Almost.

Kurt shakes his head at the floor and rests his chin on his knee again, eyes never leaving the floor. "You know I think we spend more time fighting than anything else at the moment." His voice is barely above a whisper.

I rest my head against the wall and close my eyes to block out the artificial light. "We also spend a lot of time in bathrooms," I observe.

Kurt snorts. "I'm sorry I shouted at you," he mumbles. "It isn't your fault."

"I'm sorry too. It isn't yours either."

"Yeah it is."

"No ... it's not," I open my eyes. From this angle I can see the bruise through his shirt again. "May I?" My hazel eyes hold his grey ones in question as I reach a tentative hand towards the hem of his shirt.

They widen and he twists his back away. I settle my hand on his shoulder instead and rub it in reassurance.

"Please. I promise I won't hurt you."

Kurt bites his lip, sceptical, and I hold my breath as he mulls my words over. His lids drop and I know I have permission even before he slants his head in a just perceptible nod. My heart thuds painfully in my chest as I lower my hand to the hem of his shirt and lift it with careful reverence. I try to stop the heat that travels up my neck, because I've never seen him shirtless. I know he's seen me through the window but I haven't seen him. I bite my lip as each creamy patch of skin is revealed to me. He's beautiful, a beauty that isn't even marred by the violent purple bruise that is spread up his back. My inhale of breath alerts him of my discomfort with the sight and he tries to pull his shirt down again. I stop him.

"Don't." I hold his eye with my steady one and he relaxes again. My finger trails across the bruising with a feather light touch. He shivers. "How long were you planning to put up with this?" I ask.

"As long as it took."

"Kurt ... you have to tell someone."

"No."

"Your Dad would want to know."

"And aggravate his heart? I don't think so."

"Mr Shue," I list helplessly.

"He's tried ... well sort of. He talked to me about it, but Figgins' said there was no evidence and ignored it."

I sigh and drop his shirt over his back with a gentle flourish and soothe my hand up and down it.

"What about Coach Sue? By the way when the hell did she become Principal?"

"Last week when you were ill. And no, I don't think she could help. I know she cares more than Figgins did, but still. If the school board doesn't care then her hands are tied."

I purse my lips in thought. "You've spoken to her," I realise.

He nods. "She needs evidence."

"Have you told Finn? I know he, Puck, Mike and Sam would help you if they could."

"No, I don't want them involved."

"Finn's your brother."

"And he's too obsessed with popularity to notice."

I rub my hand through my hair in frustration and rest my head on my cupped hand that's propped up by my elbow against my knee. "What do you want me to do?"

"I want you to let me handle this," Kurt says dully.

"That's not going to happen. If you won't tell your Dad or a teacher, then you need to tell Finn. He'll want to help you."

"Tell me what?"

Kurt and I spin towards the door to the bathroom, where Finn's gangly body is stood in the doorway, his shoulders hunched to fit under the door frame.

"Tell me what Kurt?"

Kurt stares at him dumbfounded.

"Kurt?"

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Santana's comment about Purity rings being silly is her opinion not mine. I promise the boys won't stay apart much longer. There are necessary revelations to come.**

**The Saffron and Lea thing IS relevant. I can imagine a lot of people are probably thinking 'why is she bringing that in?'. It's to do with Blaine's overall arc so go with it :)**

**I'll try not to take a month to update again. I do have work and my driving test next week though (yup i'm in my 20s and only just learnt to drive) plus xmas shopping and my parents are in the middle of refurbishing their house so I have to help with that. Hopefully with a bit of luck the next chapter will be with you in the next 2 weeks tops. I'll try and make it sooner though.**

**Thanks for reading Lovelies! **


	13. Sectionals and Tension

**A/N: Hi guys! I'm so sorry it has taken a month to bring this to you. Christmas was hectic! Anyways I am back with chapter thirteen and chapter fourteen is 3/4 done. Also I have a beta now in the lovely ..falling, who is a genuine lifesaver! Thank you so much to everyone who has been reading, reviewing, favouriting and alerting. I love you all.**

**I'll let you read now :)**

**Warning: There is attempted sex at the end of this chapter - You'll see what I mean when you get there :)**

**Disclaimer: Don't own - don't Sue. Especially not Sylvester. If I did own Glee, Blaine would be a senior with Kurt, and Sebastian would be punched in the face, before our boys run off into the sunset. **

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Thirteen - Sectionals and Tension<strong>

If there is one thing I have learned this week, it isn't how to do a dance routine to the satisfaction of the over ambitious Rachel Berry (although it doesn't make me fail to notice that she never says a word to two-left-feet Finn). Instead, I've learned that Kurt's Dad can be really scary when he wants to be. I thought he was a gentle person. I guess I thought that maybe Kurt had inherited his gentle nature from him. Now I see that Burt Hummel _is _gentle ... until someone threatens to kill his son - until his son doesn't inform him he is under threat - until the school board refuses to do anything about his sons bully.

"What other proof do you need?" he bellows at Coach Sylvester, who sits behind Figgins' old desk.

"Dad, your heart," Kurt says timidly.

Burt holds his hand up to stop him. Coach Sylvester doesn't flinch at his words, or even show any signs of registering them. Her chin rests on her enclosed fingers as she peers over them at the livid man in the baseball cap and lumberjack shirt.

"Blaine saw him do it!" Burt carries on.

Sue holds a finger up. "Correction: Blaine saw him roughing him up in the girl's bathroom. We can have him suspended for that, but unfortunately we only have Porcelain's word on the threat. The school board doesn't see that as sufficient evidence to have Mr. Karofsky expelled." Her voice is level, almost sympathetic.

"So they're calling my son a _liar_?" Burt's hands slam down on the desk and he glares at her.

"In the spirit of the law Mr. Hummel, they refer to it as 'innocent until proven guilty', which yes, is code for calling your son a liar until proven otherwise," she says cryptically.

I look over at Kurt for the first time since our arrival in the office. In all the time I've known him; I have never seen him sit like this. His usual ramrod straight back is curved against the back of his chair, shoulders hunched up to his shoulders. It's the dejected and dim light of his eyes that I hate the most - like he's given up.

I squeeze his fingers in a comforting gesture and pull my hand back, but instead of letting go he latches on and laces our fingers together. My brows raise but his eyes don't leave the desk in front of us.

"I'm sorry, Mr Hummel. I get no pleasure from this. In fact, as protest I have handed in my resignation as the new Principal. I never thought this job would make me feel so powerless. It's better to have another pair of eyes in those halls, and mine are the best for the job. Figgins will be back next week."

Burt nods his understanding and flops back into his seat, his eyes stony and his arms folded against his chest. Sue turns to Kurt.

"I'm going to be keeping an eye on Dave when he returns from his suspension next week, Porcelain. In the meantime I don't want you walking to any classes alone. Understood?"

Kurt breathes deeply and nods. As we leave the office I hear Burt address Finn who has been standing outside the office for the past hour.

"Keep an eye on your brother."

"Already on it," Finn says. A silent conversation passes between Burt and his stepson and I turn away to give them some privacy. Kurt's hand is still in mine.

"Are you mad at me?" I ask.

He rolls his eyes at the question. "Did you actually just ask me that question?"

I smile wryly because he's right. Of course he is. Everything he didn't want to happen just did. Yet I can't bring myself to regret it, because I know that his shoulders have relaxed, even if it is just an inch. The burden has been spread among those who care for him and he doesn't feel like he's going to buckle under the weight anymore.

Kurt sighs and leans his head against the wall behind us, grumbling, "Idiot, idiot, idiot," under his breath as he watches his Dad and stepbrother converse. I sense that the word is directed at me.

A couple of students pass by and Kurt surreptitiously drops my hand. He smoothes his hairline back in a sheepish gesture, but I slide my hand behind the small of his back and link my fingers with his other hand defiantly. He turns to me in surprise.

'_They'll see,_' his expression communicates.

I honestly could care less in this moment. Let the whole damn school see me hold my best friend's hand when he needs me.

Kurt's chin lifts stubbornly as he moves his hand to leave mine. He perches down on a seat beside the secretary's desk and holds my eye sternly. "You are a moron," he mutters.

I sit beside him. "I know."

His body turns toward me and I'm startled as his weight presses in and his arms wrap around me, one around my waist, and the other loosely around the back of my neck so he can nuzzle into my collarbone.

"Idiot," he says again and rubs his nose against my skin.

I ignore the eruption of goose bumps and the shiver that rockets down my spine. I can't bite back the smile though, even as Burt catches my eye over Kurt's shoulder. I can't quite place the look on his face, it's kind of tight, almost angry...but not. He gives me a barely noticeable nod and turns away as I wrap my arms gently across Kurt's bruised back.

"There's a sale on at the mall," I say.

Kurt's mouth twitches where it rests against my shoulder. "I can honestly say for the first time ever I don't want new clothes."

Damn. I look around for some inspiration and say in an offhand voice, "Do you want to go to Target and watch all the unfashionable people try on clothes?"

He's biting back a grin and I know I've got him, then he pulls away to look me in the face.

"Why do people shop there?"

"I shop there."

"It's cute on you. Everyone else needs a reality check."

I chuckle and pull him up by the hand. "Come on, tell your Dad and then we'll go observe the wilder beasts in their natural habitat."

We have a week free of Karofsky. We might as well enjoy it.

* * *

><p>"Has anybody ever literally died on stage?"<p>

Kurt gives me an odd look through the mirror in the dressing room, hand frozen against his fringe - which he has expertly coiffed and is in the process of cementing into position with a thick cloud of hairspray.

It's Friday and after an almost wonderfully Karofsky free week, Sectional's is here. Our performance is an hour away, and I literally feel like something near my liver died and my body wants to eject it as soon as possible.

"What?" I ask and smooth down the shirt we're all wearing for the competition.

"Are you nervous?"

I roll my eyes in exasperation. "Yes Kurt. The last time I got in front of an audience as big as this, I was publicly humiliated by my bully. So yeah, I'm nervous."

Kurt clicks his tongue and spins around, hairspray in hand. "Okay, first of all, if anyone came on and tried to humiliate you, the entire group would maul him. Secondly he's still in New Jersey, and if he does so happen to turn up here, I will find use for my impeccably manicured fist. And thirdly, you've got nothing to worry about, Blaine. If you forget the words, just mouth along." His hand lands on my shoulder. "You're almost as talented as me so ... you really don't need to be nervous."

I smile despite the huge wave of nausea that strongly disagrees with his encouragement. "What is it with you and back handed compliments?"

"They are my specialty," Kurt quips just as Mercedes knocks him out of the way with her hip.

"Stop hogging the mirror, Boo."

"I'm not done!"

"The Warblers look like an army," Brittany says out of the blue, her leg somewhere near her ear as she stretches, "except they don't all have shaved heads. It's hot."

I rub her shoulder affectionately and settle on one of the sofas beside her.

Somewhere in Rachel's forty minute pep talk, she made the point that our performing last is a blessing because we will be more memorable in the judge's minds. At least I think she said that. I tuned out after she started to identify the flaws in Quinn's voice and explain why she would sing Time of Your Life better.

"Blaine," Rachel calls.

I groan as she marches towards me and stands a foot away from the sofa.

"I want you to go over the choreography with Mike one more time. I'm not singing lead today so the only thing that will save us is if we are all in time with one another. And let's face it, out of all of us your dancing could probably use the most work."

I gape at her. Oh no, do I suck? I look to Mike in panic, but he isn't looking at me, too engrossed in shaking his head incredulously at Rachel. In fact, the entire Glee club looks to her in much the same way.

"Mike, you're fine with going over the choreography with Blaine?"

Mike glances at me. "Uh, actually I was going to go over it with Finn, seeing as he is the one who needs the _most _work." He shrugs and pats me on the back in reassurance.

"Don't say that boys name in front of me!" she snaps. "And has anyone seen Sam? I need to make sure he knows what he's doing."

"Bathroom," Artie says. "And he's not stupid, Rachel. I'm pretty sure he knows what he's doing by now."

Rachel growls at him, spins on her heel and stomps out of the dressing room, presumably to go pester Sam.

"Is it just me or is she crankier than usual?" I ask with a puzzled frown.

"She's mad at Finn because he slept with Santana last year, before they were even together," Kurt's tone is laced with boredom.

I shake my head. I'll never understand women.

"He totally doesn't have feelings for her Dude, so don't worry," Puck adds.

I blink at him for a moment before I realize his reassurance is aimed at me. "Oh – oh yeah, fine. Cool."

Kurt's chin juts out and he avoids my eye.

"I'm gonna go for a walk," I announce.

"Bathroom's down the hall if you need to throw up," Artie calls.

I ignore his comment and make my way to the backstage area, keen to get away from the cramped and awkward atmosphere in the New Direction's dressing room. There's been so much drama this week. Kurt's attack and Karofsky's suspension was just the beginning it would seem.

I pause beside the curtains and peer out at the audience. The Hipsters have already performed. In all honesty they weren't as bad as everyone else thought they would be. I'm pretty sure I saw Puck with tears in his eyes. I know we're better though. So long as I don't freeze… or vomit.

It's the Warblers I'm concerned about. They were so good when Kurt and I spied on them that I think they could very well beat us if we don't get our act together. If Artie doesn't forgive Brittany for whatever it is she's meant to have done (I heard her babbling about a magic comb earlier), or Tina who's ignoring Mike for some reason. Now Rachel is mad at Santana and Finn on top of her resentment for Quinn taking her solo. And Quinn is supposedly having 'post traumatic stress disorder' because she went into labor the last time they competed.

"It's a good turnout."

I spin around to be greeted by the lead Warbler, who gives me an easy smile.

"Oh hey, Nick right?"

"Yeah. Blaine?"

"Yeah, it's a good turnout." I gulp.

Nick tips his head in interest. "Nervous?"

I narrow my eyes at him.

"I know I am," Nick says as if to appease my thoughts. "I only became lead Warbler this year. I've never competed as the soloist until now. I auditioned five times before I got it."

I smile weakly. "You sound more organized than us," I muse. "And yes I'm nervous. The last time I performed it didn't go so well."

"How do you feel about your chances?" Nick asks. I know he's talking about the cancellation of the club. If we lose at Sectionals we could very well lose the funding.

"Pretty good," I say.

"How is Kurt? I saw him earlier at the snack bar with an extremely talkative dark haired girl. He looks...well."

I chuckle. "And by well, you mean...?"

"Tired," Nick ducks his head sheepishly.

I shrug. "He's just going through some personal stuff. It's stressing him out a little. He'll be fine."

"Bullies?" Nick guesses.

"That's very intuitive of you," I muse.

"Nah, just been through it. That's why I transferred to Dalton. They have a zero tolerance bullying policy."

They do?

"Nick, we're on in five!" I spin to see Wes glaring at him, with the other Warblers already assembled on stage.

Nick pats me on the back and I leave him with the Warblers to go sit in the audience. I find Kurt with the other New Directions on the left hand side and squeeze into the seat he and Santana saved for me between them.

"Where have you been?" Kurt whispers.

I open my mouth to answer when Santana grabs my arm and says in my ear, "If we win, I thought maybe we could find somewhere to be alone like we talked about…to celebrate."

I shudder at the thought. I've been putting that off. "And if we lose?"

"Then I'll console you the same way?"

I feel Kurt tense beside me and I internally curse her for speaking so loudly. I glance at him with unease and murmur a quick, "We'll talk about this later."

She licks my ear and I squirm away from it. "Not in public!" I hiss.

"Prude." She snorts, thoroughly pleased with herself and moves out of my space.

I chance a glance at Kurt but he's staring dead ahead, realizing I didn't get a chance to answer his question when Santana interrupted I whisper in his ear. "I was just backstage talking to that Nick guy from the Warblers."

Kurt nods. His lips are tight and his teeth scratch at his top lip.

"Are you okay?"

"Fine."

Just that moment the lights dip and the announcer introduces the Warblers.

And Brittany's comparison to an army isn't far off as they begin the opening bars of an extremely familiar tune. Jade, Matt and I spent many nights driving around town singing Hey Soul Sister as loudly as possible. Stood in an organized pack, Nick steps forward.

_'Your lipstick stains, on the front lobe of my left side brains,_

_I knew I wouldn't forget you, and so I went and let you blow my mind._

_(Let you blow my mind)'_

Okay, they are more like a machine. They seemed looser in their Senior Commons that time Kurt and I spied. It's intimidating how in synch they are. My phone buzzes in my pocket and I'm amused to discover it is from Kurt...who is sat right next to me…and could quite easily have leaned over.

_I forgot they were this good! We're doomed! - K_

I roll my eyes and text back –_Now __who is __nervous? - B_

I wait for him to read the message, observing from the corner of my eye until he elbows me in the side. I can't contain the grin.

_'Hey soul sister, ain't that Mr. Mr. on the radio,_

_Stereo, the way you move ain't fair, you know,_

_Hey soul sister, I don't wanna miss a single thing you do,_

_Tonight.'_

_On a plus note, their uniform is still hideous - K_

I snort at the reply and a couple of the New Directions turn to look at me inquisitively. I mouth an apology and they look back to the stage.

_Disturbing the audience during a performance? Tut. Tut – K_

I scowl over at him but it relaxes into a soft expression as I watch him mouth along with the words.

_'...So gangsta I'm so thug, you're the only one I'm dreaming of you see,_

_I can be myself now finally, in fact there's nothing I can't be,'_

I gulp as his twinkling eyes latch onto mine,

_'I want the world to see you be with me.'_

I look away. I can't handle the soft adoration in his eyes, the way I will always want him to look at me. The way he shouldn't look at me, if he wants me to stop wanting him. I can't show the world how I feel about him yet. I just can't.

I tear my treacherous eyes away from his pink lips, which they had somehow made their way to and watch as the Warblers finish their number. A sense of dread drops around me and fills my stomach with lead. Their finish means we're up next after the intermission.

"We'll be fine," Kurt says in my ear.

I offer a tight smile in response. Yeah. We'll be fine.

* * *

><p>We're not fine! How is it possible for things to go from calm and jittery to Bedlam in the space of an intermission? Tina is snarling at Mike about Brittany, Artie looks as though he wants to wheel over Mike's feet and Brittany looks lost on the floor as she stretches her limbs for the fourth time today in preparation.<p>

"Is this normal?" I turn to Mercedes with wide eyes.

"Uh huh."

I nibble my lip in worry.

"Curly, relax," she gives me a soft smile. "Things can't be worse than last year. We had our set list stolen and had to go on with unrehearsed material at the last minute."

I try to control my breathing. She's right. Things will only get worse if I'm freaking out too. Things are fine.

Fine.

"Guys we're screwed!" Puck runs into the dressing room. His dress shirt that was neat when he wandered away to find Sam ten minutes ago is askew, and I seem to be the only one who notices the inflection of real panic and concern in his voice. They continue to squabble.

"Guys, shut up!" Puck roars.

The room falls silent, all eyes and attention on Puck.

"Sam's sick."

There's a pregnant silence.

"Ha-ha, very funny," Quinn says with a sarcastic smile at him.

"No, I'm serious," Puck grimaces, and joins his hands behind the back of his head in frustration. "Sam's in the bathroom throwing up. Apparently he's been in there for over an hour."

All eyes land on Rachel, who crosses her arms defensively. "Why are you all looking at me? I wasn't going to walk into the Men's to find him. There were people in there."

"What are we gonna do?"

"Someone will have to sing in his place-"

"-Finn can do it. He's always lead anyway, he can pull it off-"

"Yeah, I'll do it," Finn says.

"No, no, no!" Rachel marches over to him and scowls at Quinn. "You've done enough to hurt me this week, without singing with your ex girlfriend, too."

Quinn scowls at her as everyone shouts over one another, aiming their protests at Rachel.

She takes a large step away from them, hands up in defense. "I don't care guys. He's not singing with her."

"What about Artie?"

"We're supposed to come from the back. I can't wheel onto the stage that way. It won't have the same impact," Artie says regretfully.

I offer my suggestion. "What about Kurt?"

Everyone considers me for a moment until Finn shakes his head. "His voice is too high. He'll sound too similar to Quinn."

"Love you too, bro," Kurt says dully.

"What about Blaine?" Brittany pipes up from the floor, a position she hasn't moved from since we came back in at the beginning of intermission. "His voice is amazing. And he's hot."

I blush a deep crimson as all eyes turn on me. My blood pumps around my body faster and faster as I watch their every thought on their open and desperate faces. They look so hopeful, but all I can do is chant in my head over and over:

_Please don't pick me, please don't pick me, please do-_

"He's got my vote," Kurt says and raises his hand.

My heart was in my throat. Now it's dropped to my stomach. Other member's hands shoot up in agreement with Kurt and Brittany -

"Same."

"Definitely."

"Hell yeah."

"Guys no, no I can't," I say hurriedly. "Last time I performed _only _in front of you and I got stage fright," I remind them.

"Blaine?" I look up at Quinn with pleading eyes. She returns my gaze sympathetically. "Just look at me when you sing, only me. Ignore the crowd as you walk down the aisle."

I consider her. She's never laughed at me. I can do that.

"So what do you say, Blaine?" Finn offers me a lopsided and hopeful smile.

I look to Kurt. His hands are clasped near his chin and he nods at me in encouragement, bobbing up and down on the balls of his feet.

"I guess, I'm doing the duet," I say quietly and duck my head.

The noise from the rest of the members is tumultuous as they pull me in for a group hug. I feel a hand slip into mine and at first I think it is Santana, but I can see her feet on the other side of the cluster, and the fingers are larger. Kurt squeezes my fingers in reassurance and I know he's telling me that I'll be fine.

* * *

><p>I'm so not fine. I peek around the curtain like I had before the Warblers performed and I swear there are more people out there now. I can see Mom and Saffron in the audience and I give them a meek wave. Saffron mouths a query at me, I assume it's in response to my ashen face and I shrug in response. I'd rather not tell them, in case it goes wrong. I don't want to worry them after last time.<p>

"Blaine I need you to go out to the entrance now with Quinn," Mr. Shue says. He puts his hand on my shoulder and squeezes it. "You okay?"

I nod gravely and follow Quinn's blonde head out of the backstage area, down a corridor and out into the hallway that leads into the audience from the back. I feel like I'm walking to my funeral the entire way.

"You're up first remember, Blaine," Quinn's says and gives me a quick hug before she moves over to the second entrance on the right hand side.

I can feel her concerned eyes on me as I wait for the sound of the rest of the group's harmonies to cue me, and I shift from foot to foot, trying to power through the nerves. My throat is tight, my hands are clammy and I feel sick. A vibration in my dress pants pocket signals a text message and I fish my phone out hurriedly, praying it is Mr. Shue telling me to come back, because Rachel's allowing Finn to do it after all.

_You'll be fine. Deep breath. Pretend there is no one but me in the room. You're amazing – K_

I smile despite the rhinoceros trampling on my gut and making me need the bathroom desperately.

'_Oooooooooooooh...'_

Quinn gives me a thumbs' up as I take a deep breath and pull the door open. No eyes are on me yet, and for a moment I can see Peter Lance stood before me. Matt and Jade are looking up at me with horrified and fearful eyes as I stand on a stage miles from here helplessly, lights burning down on me. And then I blink and he's gone. They are gone. I think I'm going to freeze, but then Kurt's encouraging smile springs to mind, and I can see the back of Saffron's curly head of hair, and I open my mouth, eyes closed and –

'_Now I've had the time of my life,_

_No I never felt like this before,'_

I peak at the audience. The entire auditorium has turned to stare at me and I close my eyes again to block out the curious eyes from all around.

'_Yes I swear it's the truth,_

_And I owe it all to you.'_

Quinn enters much to my relief and I look over to her. She smiles sweetly as she sings the next lines,

_'Cause I've had the time of my life,_

_And I owe it all to you.'_

It's the kind of moment I wish I could have had with Kurt, and I feel sad Quinn didn't get this moment with poor Sam. It would have been beautiful with the two of them singing.

_'I've been waiting for so long,_

_Now I've finally found someone,_

_To stand by me.'_

I sing out, louder, more confidently than before. Quinn beams in pride as we alternate between our lines of the verse, all the while walking steadily closer to the stage as the hidden New Directions harmonize from the curtained stage. I have to stifle a grin at the nonplussed expressions of my sister and mother. Now I'm really happy they didn't know I was singing, just to get that priceless reaction. We've reached the stage now and I spread my arms with a wide smile and sing over at Quinn.

_'Just remember!'_

She shakes her head in amusement as we continue the choreography to a tee. Luckily I'd watched Quinn and Sam do it so many times in rehearsals that it was practically second nature. Finally she is in my arms and we sing in each other's faces;

_'This could be love,_

_Because...'_

And finally the curtain lifts to reveal the rest of the New Directions, including a very weak looking Sam, who must have taken a respite from the toilet bowl. I can feel Kurt's beaming pride on me the entire time and it spurs me to give a better performance. By the end of the number, the rhinoceros has been released from my body and is replaced by happy butterflies.

I did it. Saffron is shaking her head at me in disbelief and gives me a thumbs' up as the audience cheers around her. Kurt squeezes my shoulder briefly as we move into the starting positions for _Valerie, _and then Santana is up, with Mike and Brittany wowing the crowd with their amazing moves. By the end we are all exhilarated as the crowd jumps up into a standing ovation. Even the Warblers and Hipsters seem impressed as we walk off the stage and run screaming, yelling and fist pumping back to our dressing room.

Kurt pulls me to the side before we walk in and throws his arms around my neck in excitement. I grin into his shoulder as he bobs up and down on his toes.

"You were amazing, Blaine. I'm so proud of you. See, I told you nothing bad would happen." Kurt claps giddily and I can't help but smile at his infectious happiness.

"Thanks for the encouraging text," I say.

His eyes widen in relief. "Oh good, you got it in time."

I nod and pull away from his hug before anyone can come out and think anything of our proximity.

"I told you, you're almost as talented as me," Kurt quipped as he strolled into the dressing room. I laugh at his retreating form, relieved to find he looks happier and more relaxed than he has in weeks.

* * *

><p>"I can't believe we drew with the damn Gargler's," Santana moans as I pull the car into my driveway.<p>

"They were good," I reason, quietly.

I stare up at my pitch black house. Mom left Sectionals straight after the announcement to go meet Dad for dinner. After their argument last week they decided they needed some couple time. Saffron declined my offer to drop her around her friend's house, after explaining Kurt had already offered to give her a ride.

I try to expel the knot in my stomach that clenches tighter every time I'm reminded they talk, and switch the engine off with a sigh.

I have the house to myself...with Santana, and I have no idea how we got here. I just know that Santana overheard my conversation with my sister, and then all of a sudden I was being dragged away from confused Saffron and pained looking Kurt.

I lead Santana inside and she whistles lowly, taking her fur jacket off and dumping it unceremoniously on the hall floor. My eyes roll as I sweep it up into my hands and hang it on the hooks by the door.

"So, do you want a drink?" I ask.

She shakes her head. "Where's your room?"

"Upstairs," I say, but she's already half way up them and I follow after her gingerly. I was hoping to put this off, but it would seem she's reached the end of her patience.

I lead her into my room and close the door behind us. I don't why, considering no one is even in the house. I'm about to ask her if she wants to watch a DVD or something when the light I had flicked on upon entering the room goes out. I turn to find her presence right there. Barely a whisper away from me in the darkness, and I back up instinctively. My back hits my bedroom door, and I squirm at the irony. I should have kept it open after all.

I can just make out her twinkling eyes leering at me, seemingly unaware of my discomfort, and I give her a pained smile. Then her lips are on mine and I close my eyes in a half hearted attempt to enjoy it. Nothing happens. No spark, no electricity, definitely no adrenaline. And the race of my heart has more to do with the panic at having her attached to my face than any excitement or passion towards her.

She bites down hard on my bottom lip and I yelp. She sniggers and maneuvers her tongue into my newly opened mouth.

"Relax," she says against my lips.

My shoulders are hunched up to my ears I realize, and my hands are up in the air, because I can't decide if I should play along and hold her, or push her away. I settle on placing them on her hips with a dejected sigh. She misinterprets it as a good thing and smiles as she rubs at my shoulders to get them to loosen. It kind of works, but any form of massage tends to do that to me, no matter who does it.

I gasp in panic as her knee lifts up to press against my crotch, and she breaks her lips away with an amused frown.

"You are so virginal it's nauseating." She rolls her eyes and grabs me by the scruff of the neck, hauling me over to my bed. I go unwillingly and squirm into the duvet below me as she climbs over me.

"San-"

She bites down on my bottom lip again and I cringe as her tongue dips in and out of my mouth. I can feel her nimble fingers undoing the buttons on my competition dress shirt, and then she loses her patience and pulls it up and over my head. I don't see where it lands because her mouth is back on mine, her hands trailing up my stomach to my chest. One hand comes to rest at the back of my neck and I watch as her other hand expertly unzips the back of her dress. It pools in her lap, exposing her bra to me and I have to admit, I'm more than a little intrigued by her boobs. Kurt said something about her getting a boob job during the summer. It's noticeable.

She breaks away again and I tear my eyes from her chest and look her in the eye. She's observing me too. I blush at having been caught staring. I know I shouldn't stare, but seriously, I will never understand why girls think fake boobs are a good idea. If I was straight, I know I'd want my girl to love herself just as she is. It's not like I'd expect Kurt to...enhance anything, no matter what he looks like. I squeeze my eyes shut against my over active imagination; now is so not the time to think about Kurt's...yeah not a good time. Not with someone else sat on top of me.

"You can touch them if you want, Hobbit," she says.

I blink up at her and try to mask my discomfort, avoiding direct eye contact. "Um, no, no that's okay, I uh, no," I stammer.

She eyes me up shrewdly for a few moments. I rub the back of my neck in unease.

"You know I won't hurt you, right?" she says.

I open my mouth in protest but she silences me with her hand over my mouth.

"I know I come off as a bitch, but I won't do anything too advanced or whatever. Not the first time, anyway," she says with a smirk.

I stare up at her in surprise, because I can't believe she is actually having this conversation with me. I cock my head to the side, trying to deduce what her angle is.

She seems to sense my skepticism and shrugs. "What? I'm a bitch, I'm not heartless," she defends. "I know you're a virgin. And I know you are still uneasy about sex, if your avoidance of the subject is anything to go by."

I'm openly gawping at her now.

"I'm just saying, you need to get it over with at some point. You're shyness is stopping you having fun. _Sex _is really fun, if you give it a chance. And once you've done it, you'll be more confident. It's such a waste of that ass if no one is getting up on that," she says.

I bite my lip, and study her. I have never seen this side of her. I've heard Brittany mention she is nice when they are alone, but I never thought I would witness it.

"Bottom line: I don't want you to be uncomfortable about this. It's just sex." She leans back down over me and I gulp. Her hand palms my pant clad crotch and I bite down on my lip hard enough to break skin. "Let me make you feel good," she whispers.

My chest heaves as she unzips my pants because she's getting close and I'm not doing a thing to stop it. And the worst part is her words have struck a chord with me.

If I go through with this, it really will just be sex. I don't have any feeling towards her, besides friendly affection, and while that seems to be enough for some people, I don't _want _it to mean nothing. Mom's taught me better than that. Seeing Matt and Jade together taught me better than that. Seeing how hurt Rachel is about Finn sleeping with Santana, before they were even together has made me think better of it.

I don't want to do this to Santana. I want Kurt. And even though Kurt won't have me yet, who's to say he won't hate me for allowing this to happen? I remember the pained look in his eyes, his silence as he overheard her back in the auditorium before the Warblers performance. And despite the fact we aren't a couple, and he probably shouldn't have such an effect – it bothers me that he might think less of me.

A dim light filters into the room from my window and illuminates my bathroom door. Kurt, my mind fills in. He must be home.

Santana lifts the waist band of my boxers and pulls them down to expose me to her. I shift self consciously, my heart thudding in my chest, but she ignores, or perhaps just doesn't notice the uneasy look in my eyes, bending over me with a self satisfied smirk.

A shadow passes across the new source of light and I can imagine Kurt dropping his stuff on the floor as he flops down on his bed, like always. Santana reaches out and holds me in her hand and the light from the window darkens considerably, consuming her in darkness once more. I look over in confusion. Kurt has drawn his curtains. Shut me out. And somehow that makes my decision for me.

I don't want to hurt him. Anybody.

My hands come up to grip her upper arms below her shoulders. "Wait!" I sit up and pull her hand off of me, relieved to no longer have her stroking up and down.

Her head falls back against the back of her neck, her eyes rolling. "What now?"

I pull my boxers up again and ease her off my lap. She goes reluctantly and fixes me with a confused and irritated scowl.

"What Blaine?"

"I can't do this," I say and pull her dress back up to cover her breasts again, which I realize had become braless without my noticing.

She gapes at me. "Why?"

"I-I haven't been honest with you," I say and dip my head so my curls cover my eyes.

She narrows hers at me. "About _what_?"

"I um," I finish pulling on a t-shirt I found screwed up by my bed and fiddle with it a moment. "Me. Uh..."

She sits back and folds her arms across her chest in defense. "Do enlighten me Blaine," she says. "Did I hurt you? No one's ever complained."

My eyes widen in alarm. "No, no, definitely not, it's me, I promise," I assure hastily.

"What about you?" Her eyes have softened and her perfect eyebrows are raised. She seems genuinely curious about what I'm about to reveal to her.

"You're so beautiful, you know," I say and cup her chin.

She bats it away and I can see she's trying not to show any emotion until she knows what I'm talking about. "Blaine, what's wrong? Did I freak you out? I know I'm a little handsy. I-"

I place my hand over her mouth as she did to me earlier, and she falls silent. I'm surprised the normally vicious girl doesn't bite it. All bravado has left her, replaced with an almost ... vulnerability, and I feel like an asshole for being the one to put it there. I take a deep breath, questioning my own sanity in what I'm about to reveal to her.

"Santana I ... I'm so sorry to have to tell you this but I – I," I squeeze my eyes shut and rub them a moment before I force them open and maintain eye contact with her, in the hope she will understand, if I can just communicate non-verbally how much I hate myself for this …

"I'm gay."

The silence between us is loud.

"Ah crap." Santana flops back on the bed and places the pillow over her face.

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><p><strong>AN: Sorry for the cliffhanger. I'll try not to be awful about updating. The next chapter is so close to done though, so fingers crossed you won't wait long :)**

**Yay Blaine finally got a clue! I hope there was enough Klaine fluff to make up for the Santana at the end, and hopefully Sectionals didn't bore you!**


	14. Misunderstandings

**A/N Hello good people of Klaine land. Apologies for the late update. I wasn't happy with the chapter so that's why it took so long. Massive thank you to everyone who has been reading and reviewing and alerting. You guys are the best. I realized this story has over 40,000 hits the other day. I'm in awe. Thanks for giving this a shot.**

**I do something I have never done in this fic. I delve into Kurt's mind. Forgive me if it doesn't sound like him. I decided it was necessary.**

**Massive thanks to till . the. tears. stop .falling for her magical beta skills. I don't know what I'd do without her eyes and encouragement.**

**Disclaimer: Don't own Glee. Sucks, right?**

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><p>Chapter Fourteen - Misunderstandings<p>

Blaine POV

I shift awkwardly on the bed and lift my knees to loop my arms around them. I'm at a complete loss. What am I supposed to do now? I've never been in this situation. I never had this problem with Jade because she was always into Matt. Santana lies motionless beside me with my freshly laundered pillow squeezed tight against her face, while I eye her figure curiously. This wasn't quite the reaction I anticipated. I thought there would be some shouting, or maybe even some Spanish thrown in there. I was under the impression that she would 'go all Lima Heights' on me.

Her flopping down, with her halter dress barely covering her as she hides her humiliation from me, is not how I saw this moment going. I draw in a shuddering breath to calm my pulsing heart and leaned my chin down on my knee. I think I would rather prefer the shouting. Silence is so much louder.

I did it though. I really did it. I just told Santana of all people that I'm gay. Oh god, what did I just do?

The way my stomach is twisting itself is difficult to ignore as I debate with myself on whether it would be prudent just to apologize and cry. I'll beg for forgiveness ... and her silence if necessary.

"San I-"

I reached my hand out to her bare shoulder, but think better of it and settle it down beside her. If there is one thing I learned from my three favorite females; Mom, Saff and Jade, it's that distance makes girls less likely to spew molten hysteria on you when they're upset. Is she upset?

"I can't fucking believe this," Santana's drawl muffles through the thick pillow.

Okay, she's upset.

"San, I'm so sorry. I know I should have told you before but, it's my dad –he wants me to hide it – I've never had a girl interested in me –please don't be mad. Are you mad? Of course you are. I lied to you and that's unforgivable but I just ..."

Wait. Is she ... laughing?

I stare incredulously at her pillow covered form. Her bare shoulders are shaking and a sound like a cat choking on a hair ball comes from her general direction. I don't have a cat. She's either suffocating herself, or laughing.

"Are you...?"

A loud snort fills the silent room and I scoot myself as far away as possible, stung as I realize that it's Peter all over again. I've clearly just played into her hands, and now she's going to humiliate me in front of the entire school because I've humiliated her.

Oh god, Dad's going to kill me. We'll have to move again. No wait, we can't afford that. I'm going to have to stick this one out, and he's going to look at me like I'm the biggest idiot in the world. I _am _the biggest idiot in the world. Maybe if I switch schools it'll be easier.

My stomach sinks at the thought of not seeing Kurt everyday between classes.

A high pitched cackle interrupts my panic ... and just like that the thrum of blood around my body is refueled by a different emotion. Hurt. I blink back the tears that bead in my eyes.

"Santana this isn't funny." My voice is hoarse. "I just told you I'm gay ... and you're laughing?"

Santana rips the pillow off her face and howls with hilarity towards the ceiling. My face screws up in confusion as I scramble to my feet, trying to ignore the stubborn moisture that oozes down my cheek. I scratch at my heated neck, as she turns over and burrows her head into my quilt to muffle the sound of her hysterics.

"If you're going to laugh then, I'm just gonna-" I gesture towards the door meekly, put out by how this night has gone. I wasn't expecting it to go well, but I didn't expect ... well, this!

"Oh calm down, Hobbit. I'm not laughing at the fact that you're gay."

I twist round. She's perched on the end of the bed with her legs tangled beneath her. I frown and surreptitiously wipe at my cheek.

"Then what?"

"I'm laughing because I just lost a bet to _Brittany _of all people."

I blink at her."You made a bet on me?"

Her eyes widen, like she's just realized how that came out. "Oh no, no, not like ... come here."

She pats the bed beside her. I don't move, my hand is still placed on the door knob from my attempted departure. She rolls her eyes in exasperation, leaping across the room to haul my reluctant body away from the exit. I sit gingerly beside her and turn my body away in defense.

"Britt was debating when her dolphins were going to get together a few weeks back," Santana began.

I open my mouth in confusion –

"-She's under the impression that dolphins are gay sharks," she elaborates.

I can't help the twitch of my mouth. I love Brittany.

"Anyway, a couple of weeks ago she asked me when her dolphins would start making gay babies-"

"-That's not-"

"-possible? Duh, but try telling Britt that. I'm pretty sure she doesn't know where her butt is half the time, let alone the birds and the bees."

I rub my hand over my eyes and gesture for her to continue with the other.

"The only gay guy I could think of was Kurt, and when I told her she was like, 'No silly, Blaine's a dolphin too, right?'"

I open and close my mouth a few times. For someone who thinks her neighbor's gnome comes alive at night and stalks her cat, she's pretty perceptive.

"I tried to tell her you were straight," Santana continues, "but once she gets an idea in her head, it won't leave. Even when Kurt said you were straight, she was still convinced."

My head cocks to the side as she adjusts her dress slightly. "Anyway, I made a wager with her that she was wrong. I guess I figured if anyone would know if you were gay, Kurt would." She laughs humorlessly. "I'm going to lose 50 bucks now. Thanks."

I scowl at her. "I just told you my biggest secret, which everyone is going to find out now, and _you__'re _upset over 50 bucks? You're betting on my life!" I exclaim.

Santana arches a perfect penciled eyebrow and crosses her arms over her chest. "Well you don't have to make it sound so shady."

"My life's not some joke you can wager on!"

"And I'm not your fucking beard, Blaine!" She jumps up from the bed and points between us.

"Neither of us are angels in this situation."

I don't respond and stare stonily at my lap, because it's true. I haven't been fair to her, but that doesn't make me any less hurt by what she's telling me.

"And for the record, I resent the accusation that I would 'out' you."

The shake of my head makes my scepticism clear. "You wouldn't?"

"I told you, I'm a bitch. I'm not _heartless_."

Deflating at her words, I curl up in a ball again. "Thanks."

She shrugs and settles beside me again patting my shoulder awkwardly. "Yeah yeah, I'll keep your secret if you don't mention that I can be nice to anyone."

I snigger.

"Does Kurt know?"

I nod.

"Okay, so why didn't you tell _me_?" she asks.

"I never told Kurt, he just ... figured it out and covered for me. I didn't even have to ask."

"I didn't ask you that," she says sharply. I study her profile. She doesn't seem angry, just irritated. I sigh and wipe my nose against my knee. She has the right to know.

"I didn't tell you ... or anyone because of my dad."

"Oh yeah, you spewed something about him earlier." She twists around to face me properly.

"Is he not supportive?"

"No he is," I insist. "It's just complicated."

She turns my face with her index finger and holds my gaze. "For the first time in our ..." she cocks her head in thought and settles on, "friendship, I'm willing to listen."

I smile wanly. Where do I begin? "He doesn't have an issue with me being gay. He's just protective, I guess. He wanted to make sure no one would hurt me, so he told me to pretend I'm straight. I – I got bullied a lot at my old school."

She nods, her lips pursed in thought. "Are you sure it was the gay thing you were bullied for?"

I bulk at the weird question. "Yeah, why?"

"So it wasn't the mane of hair, the over-politeness or the height?" I realize she is teasing and nudge her rib.

"I got called 'homo' and the F word a lot, so it was mainly the gay thing." My smile drops.

"Dad doesn't want me to tell people because ... things got difficult back in New Jersey."

"Let me guess, there was one guy in particular who led the pack?"

I laugh humorlessly. Well isn't that the irritatingly accurate cliché? "Peter Lance. He – he told the whole school while I was performing in a talent show."

Santana's nails dig into her knee and her eyes flash dangerously. "Suddenly the stage fright makes sense. What. An. Asshole!"

We sit in companionable silence for a few moments.

"Can I ask you why you and Kurt are being weird with one another? I mean I don't care, but the whole Glee clubs talking about it behind your backs. It'd be nice to rub it in Rachel's face that I have an answer before anyone."

I shift from side to side and curl my knees up to my chin on the bed. Can I really admit that I more or less cheated on her when she thought we were a thing? She's being nice now, but the bubble of calm could pop at any moment.

"He won't be with me," I breathe, surprised by the tight heat in my chest and the tears that pool in the edge of my eyes. I haven't articulated this point to anyone aloud. Not since it happened, and it makes the situation feel all the more real, like I've removed the band aid to put a fresh one on. Only the sting of the air is enough to irritate it before the clean one is placed over.

Her eyes widen in comprehension. "You like Lady Face ... wait, you asked?" Her eyebrows shoot up her forehead.

"We kissed a few weeks ago." I squeeze my eyes shut and wait for the accusations, the slap, anything. Nothing happens.

"I didn't think you had it in you," she says in a mildly impressed tone.

I stare at her with an open mouth.

"Wait, he rejected you?"

I nod dumbly, because I can't comprehend why she isn't mad.

She seems flabbergasted herself. "But – all he wants is a damn boyfriend, and the way he looks at you..."

"He doesn't want a closeted boyfriend," I explain. I'm not sure why I'm telling her this, but it's like she's opened a flood gate.

Her mouth hangs open. "Well that's bullshit!"

"No, no it's fair."

"No it isn't. This is Ohio, not San Francisco!"

"Sant-"

"Let me see if I've got this straight – no pun intended – Kurt won't date you because he doesn't like that you are in the closet," she ticks the points off on her fingers. "You're dad is the one who forced you head first back into the closet, and the reason you are in it to begin with is because you were bullied for it in your old school."

"Old town," I amend.

Santana purses her lips in thought. Her lips are so full. Just like Kurt's. Sometimes I can see why straight guys are attracted to her.

"You know, technically you are out of the closet." I cock my head in confusion and she elaborates with a small and supportive smile. "I know. Kurt knows. You're family knows. New Jersey knows. You'll never fully be back in."

A rush of warmth spreads to the tips of my fingers as her words sink in. I hadn't thought of it that way.

"So you're saying...?"

"That technically Kurt's argument is invalid because you _are _out of the closet. Just not in this geographical area. You guys could be together and it wouldn't be against whatever dumbass principle he's trying to hide behind."

"He doesn't want a boyfriend who won't admit to being with him in public," I point out.

"You do admit that you want him though. Why does it have to be public? Does he want you to shout it to the whole crowd at a football game?"

"I don't know, San, he has every right-"

"And you have every right to remain silent. Look, if I had the guts to tell someone how I felt and they liked me back, I would take the opportunity. I wouldn't shout it to the world, but I'd take that chance."

"Why are you being so nice about everything? I kissed Kurt when I was with you."

She shrugs. "I make out with Brittany all the time."

My eyes widen in understanding. "So you're..."

"I'm not ready to label anything," she explains hastily. She leaves the bed and walks over to the window, I assume to avoid looking at me. "Unless it's on something I shoplift, I don't care for them."

I nod my understanding. "I guess we're both kind of screwed up, huh?"

She nods. "Is that..." She gestures at the window and leers at me over her shoulder. "Is that Kurt's room?"

"Oh," I blush to the tips of my ears. "Yeah."

She smirks. "Wow. Have you seen him naked yet?"

"What? No!"

Santana laughs out loud. "The Hobbit doth protest too much." I blush even more, if that's possible, as I settle on the window seat next to her. "On a serious note: this Peter Lance guy," she begins. "How badly did he hurt you?"

I avoid her eye, and look out at Kurt's curtain covered window instead, squinting at a slight gap where the two pieces of fabric meet, and where I can partially see a dark head of hair that definitely isn't Kurt.

"Okay, I get it. I'm overstepping."

I look back to Santana, who is looking out the window too. My eyes fall back to the gap again, but whoever is in there with Kurt has moved. "Sorry," I mumble.

"You know, you apologize way too much for someone who is genuinely a nice person," she observes.

"You sound like my sister." My smile drops at her name, and I nibble my lip. "Santana, can I ask you something, and will you answer me honestly?"

She flops back so she's lying across the window seat beside me, and her feet press against my wall. "Shoot."

"Do I seem ... delicate to you?"

"Not last I checked." She rolls her head back to look at me. "I saw your dick ten minutes ago, honey. You ain't delicate."

I groan and cover my tomato red cheeks. "That is so not what I was asking!"

"What's eating you, B?"

"It's just that lately people have been keeping things from me because they think it'll hurt me. Like my sister, I overheard her talking to Kurt the other week. He knows something about her which she refuses to tell me."

"No."

"No?"

"No, I don't think you are delicate. Has it occurred to you that it might be something about her, and not you? Her life doesn't revolve around you."

Oh. That answer is so obvious, that it's ridiculous I didn't think of it myself.

* * *

><p>Monday morning is ... strange, to say the least. Guys I have never spoken to in my life smile suggestively at me as I pass them in the halls. A couple have even high fived me. I mean, I get that the Glee club won Sectionals on Friday but why are they showing support for us now?<p>

"Nice one, bro!" A Hockey player with an unexplainable mullet holds his fist out to me, just as I reach my locker after first period. I gingerly hold mine out in response, staring dumbly after him as he walks away.

"Thanks ... person I have never spoken to in my life," I mutter under my breath. I open my locker in a daze and mechanically collect the books I need for next period.

"Dude, you finally did it. What took you so long?" Puck says in passing.

I frown. What took me so long to what? Sing? "I dunno, stage fright?" I say in bewilderment.

Puck snorts and walks backwards so he is still looking at me as he talks. "From what I hear you had nothing to worry about." He winks and I'm left even more baffled.

Puck was at Sectionals. He already knew how my performance went...

"Blaine Anderson?"

I spin around apprehensively at the appearance of Jacob Ben Israel beside me, microphone in hand. A burly looking guy is stood beside him with a digital camera.

"Uh, hi?"

"Blaine Anderson, how does it feel to now be the resident stud of the Gay Squad?"

I blink at him in horror. "I'm sorry, what?"

"The glee club, aka the Gay Squad, how does it feel?"

I gape at him for a moment, then shake my head and walk away. My shoulders are hunched up to my ears. Did Santana lie? Did she tell everyone I'm gay? Wait, that doesn't explain the fist bumps and shoulder pats. I think this might not be about Sectionals after all though. If it isn't Sectionals or my sexuality, what is it about?

I spot Kurt by his locker and smile. I haven't seen him since Friday. I texted him of course, but apparently he was busy. I even went over there and his Dad shrugged and mumbled something about a sleepover with Mercedes and Rachel.

"Hey," I greet him warmly once I'm within earshot.

His answering smile is tight. "Hi."

My eyebrows furrow. "What's wrong?"

"Tired."

"Oh," I'm at a loss for what to say. "Did you have a busy weekend? I mean I didn't see you and you didn't answer any of my texts. Your Dad said you were at a sleepover."

"Something like that," he says and closes his locker. "Congratulations by the way."

I cock my head at this oddly one sided conversation. "For what?"

"Don't play dumb, everyone's talking about it," Kurt says slyly. I look down at my feet guiltily, although I have no clue why.

"I'm not following," I admit.

"You lost the big V," he says like it's the most obvious thing in the world.

My mouth drops open. "I – huh?"

"What? Did you think Santana wouldn't kiss and tell?" Kurt's smile is bright, too bright to be genuine. "I'm happy for you both."

What!

"No, Kurt you've got it-"

"I'm late for a meeting with my lab partner. I'll see you in Glee."

I watch him as he walks away. I wouldn't see a difference, if I wasn't so attuned to watching him. His back is too stiff. "I won't see you at lunch?" I ask.

"Sorry, I have homework to do."

And then he disappears around the corner, and I'm left by myself as students weave around me to get to their own classes and lockers. Suddenly the high fives and the nods of approval make sense.

I'm going to kill her.

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><p>Lunchtime has come around before I get to see her. She's sitting at the glee club's usual table and when I drag her away, my cheeks burning from the catcalls and whistles that sound around us as we leave the cafeteria.<p>

"Will you stop man handling me?" she snaps.

"Why does everyone think we had sex?" I hiss at her, once we're in an empty classroom.

"Because I told everyone we did."

"But we didn't! Wait…what we did didn't count as sex, right?"

Santana snorts and shakes her head fondly. "No, I gave you half a hand job that had zero reaction. That didn't count."

I breathe out in relief. "Ok good. So why did you tell everyone we did?"

"I told you I wasn't going to out you," she explains. "I've just confirmed to the entire school that you like lady parts. They'll definitely leave you alone now."

I gape at her.

"Well you could look a little more grateful." She tosses her ponytail over her shoulder again, eyes narrowed.

"I didn't ask you to do that! I ... I appreciate the effort," I say with a groan, rubbing the heel of my hand into my eyes in frustration and taking a deep breath to calm my temper. "But Kurt's ignoring me because he thinks I slept with you."

Her eyes are wide as saucers as her mouth forms an O. "Right, Lady Face. I didn't think about that."

Dejected, I drop into a seat near the front and rest my head against my hand. "He wouldn't even look at me, let alone listen."

"I'll talk to him," she soothes.

"Don't—"

"No, look. As much as I'm pissed at him, and he has no right to be mad at you considering he rejected you, I will clear things up with him."

"No,Santana,it's fine. I'll explain."

"Trust me, he won't believe it from you, but he definitely will if I explain. I'll sort it out."And with that she kisses me on the cheek and prances out of the room, leaving me to sit and wonder how on earth my life could get more complicated.

* * *

><p><span>Kurt's POV<span>

I stumble my way to the public restroom inside mall, the catcalls and laughs of the Neanderthal jocks holding their now empty slushie cups echo in my ears and drum about in my head. There was once a time when their taunts rolled off my back. But there's only so much one guy can take. Everyone has a ceiling, and I think mine has been hit. Scrubbing at my green face, I scoop water into my eyes to relieve the sting of the dye.

Why do slushie's have to be sold in the mall too? Am I safe anywhere?

Mercedes and Rachel will most likely come and search for me soon. My hands shake as I turn the cold tap in an attempt to cool down the ever increasing temperature of the water against my skin. When Rachel enlisted mine and Mercedes help in finding her an outfit that would help her win Finn back, I didn't think I would spend Monday after school washing a slushie off of my skin. I've already neglected my skin regime enough lately. I don't need any more damage done to my complexion.

"Well hey there, Lady Face."

I look up at the familiar voice. It doesn't belong to either of the girls I accompanied to the mall. "Santana," I acknowledge and avert my gaze away haughtily. She's quite possibly the last person I want to see right now.

She examines my reflection over my shoulder. "Do yourself a favor and don't every try and be the first male Elphaba. Green doesn't suit you."

I huff a sharp breath and continue to dab at my face. If she's here to dash yet another of my dreams, I'd rather she picked a moment when I'm not picking green gunk out of my hair and collar.

"Noted."

"We need to talk about Blaine."

"What's he done now? Still not putting out?" I say testily. "Oh wait, my mistake, you've bragged about it to the entire school already."

"I know, Kurt."

I scowl at her and play along. "Know what, Santana?"

"That B is a capital G gay and you've been covering for him."

The hand holding the wash cloth to my face freezes against my cheek, and I eye her reflection in horror. I can see my pale cheeks turning the color of parchment underneath the green dye. I open my mouth to say something scathing and clever, but all that comes out is:

"Please don't tell anyone, it'll kill him!"

Santana shakes her head at me, her eyes narrowed to slits. "I'm not going to tell! Jesus, do I

seem like the type or something?"

"Yes."

She rolls her eyes. "Whatever. I need a favor. You know those two people he always talks about from back home in Jersey?"

"Matt and Jade?"

"Do you know their cells or at least a surname so I can find them on Facebook?"

"Why?"

"Something he said about this Peter Lance guy doesn't add up, and I'm hell bent on finding out."

I raise an eyebrow at her in question. Exactly how much did he tell her?

"No I don't have their numbers or surnames. He's never mentioned it, and I haven't spoken to either of them."

"Shit." She pulls her iPhone out and swipes her finger across the screen. "I guess I'll have to search his Friends list manually for Jades' and Matts'."

I look back at my reflection as she does so, and wipe the remainder of the green dye off of my cheek. I really want to ignore her, but it pains me to admit that she has piqued my interest. His stories about this guy are so vague. I just never thought it was my place to pry. If Santana's so willing to do it though, why shouldn't I accidentally find out the result of her search?

"That was easy." Santana's shaking her head at her phone, with a wry smile that seems ... out of place on her.

"Found them?" I query and ring out my wash cloth.

"Oh yeah. Did you know that including the entire Glee club, Blaine has a grand total of twenty-seven friends on Facebook?"

I blanch at that. Even at the height of my unpopularity in freshman year I had more than that!

"Seriously?"

"Seriously," she confirms. "Were people this much of a dick to him in Jersey?"

I fish my own phone out of my back pocket and search his page. She's right. Besides the Glee club (and Mr. Shue), there are only a few other names. Some appear to be acquaintances of Saffron, rather than his. The only other names I recognize are:

Saffron Anderson

Maggie Anderson

John Anderson

Jade Biggs

Matthew Samuels

Well, aside from the three Warblers we had that meeting with a few weeks back. I still don't understand why they added us. Out of curiosity I check Saffron's page. She has 536 friends. I shrug. I guess she is more outgoing than Blaine.

"Okay, shall I contact them or you?"

I narrow my eyes at her. "It was your idea."

She settles her phone on the counter and taps her long painted nails. "Oh come on, you're not even the teeniest bit curious?"

"Of course I am!" I exclaim. "But I'm not the one hell bent on finding out."

"You should be." Santana's eyes have darkened.

I spin around to face her with my arms wrapped around my chest in defense. What the hell have I done?

"I'm pretty sure this Peter Lance asshole is the reason B is okay with going along with his dad's stupid 'straight' plan. And why he's so timid. Considering you refuse to date him for being in the closet, even though I know you want to fuck him within an inch of his life, I figured you'd want to know all the facts first."

I gape at her. He told her that? I ignore the heat in my cheeks and force down the indignant retort to the accusatory glare.

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" I settle on.

"Nothing. Absolutely nothing."

She lifts off the counter and stalks out of the restroom. I stare after her incredulously. Did she just imply that I'm being some kind of asshole? I pack up my skincare things and check my reflection (not perfect) before I stuff them in my bag and run after her into the heavy throng of pre-festive season Monday shoppers.

She's peering in at a window display when I catch up with her.

"What is your problem?" I ask.

"My problem, Kurt is that you broke his heart without even giving him a chance. Without thinking that maybe he might be in the closet for a bigger reason than just his dad's wishes."

"That's exactly what I said to him," I snap. "I told him his dad isn't the one keeping him in the closet. I said he 'won't' come out. Not that he 'can't.'"

"Are you listening to yourself? Can you be more condescending?" Santana curls her lip.

"That is so not what I was saying. Congratulations, you've worked out that he's in the closet by choice. Have a medal."

"Stop being cryptic, Santana. Why are you pissed at me?"

"Because you haven't thought about 'why' he won't come out. You just decided 'Oh no, I can't be with a closet case. Boo hoo poor me,' when what you should have thought is, 'oh, he won't come out. Why?' and tried to help him."

I glare back at her. Is she serious? She thinks I haven't thought about why? That's all I think about! Every day I wish there was some magic solution that will solve all our problems and that I could grab his perfect face and...

I swallow thickly and attempt to reign in the contempt dripping from my voice.

"Okay little miss perfect; you aren't exactly a shining example of human integrity, so why the hell are you bitching at me?"

"Because you need it."

"Why do you care?"

"I care about the stupid Hobbit, okay? And before you ask, no I'm not in love with him."

I study her. She seems sincere. "Why? The only person you care about is yourself and-"

"Brittany," Santana closes her eyes and leans her head against the window of the shop. "He's good to Brittany."

I cock my head to the side in question. She huffs out a breath and slides down the glass with her arms in her lap. A few passing boys look down appreciatively at the amount of thigh that has been revealed to them as she crosses her ankles. I sit gingerly beside her.

"I've never heard him say a bad word about her. Everyone else calls her stupid when she needs help. He just helps her, no questions asked. Or when she says something totally random, he smiles and finds something to say to carry on the conversation, when everyone else brushes over it like she never spoke. He's a good guy."

"I know he is."

She frowns at me in irritation. "You like him."

"Yes."

"Then why the _fuck _are you not getting up on that? He likes you. I have no idea why, considering the fact that you are such a drama queen. You rival Berry but ..."

I don't answer. Honestly my resolve on this subject's been wavering. Even I question my sanity.

"It seems like you waved your affection in his face, made him think he had you, and then snatched it away before either of you could enjoy it. And for what?"

I nibble at my lip and try to ignore the new squirm her words bring to my belly. I did that, didn't I? I actually did that. I didn't mean it, but I gave him a moment and then took it. I groan and slap my head back against the glass of the window display, ignoring the strangers that pass by us and the mall cop that has eyes on us from over at the food court.

I'm a terrible person.

Since when did Santana start telling people how to live their life, pointing out the things they ought to feel guilty about?

"Just find out why he is how he is. Then decide if you're making the right choice," she says. "I know what it's like to make the wrong choices. The person I want is out of bounds. I left it too late. He won't wait for you forever, Kurt. I'm pretty sure the lead singer of the Warblers is gay. Blaine was talking to him at Sectionals."

I breathe in deep and fight down the nauseous panic her words inflict on me. The idea of Blaine giving up on me and dating someone else feels like a punch to the gut.

"Okay."

"Oh and FYI..."

I look over to show I'm listening.

"He still has his V card."

I close my eyes, nibbling my lip in guilt. I should have known he wouldn't.

She fishes her phone out of her bra and holds it up. "So, you message them, or shall I?"

* * *

><p><span>Blaine POV again<span>

"What's the answer to this one?" Saffron says.

I look down to where her head is leant against my thigh, her books spread against her torso. Random papers of hers are scattered along the length of the sofa. She looks up pleadingly and I roll my eyes fondly.

"I'm not doing your homework for you."

She pouts. "I just need help."

"I have helped, now you have to work it out yourself." I laugh, and turn back to my own significantly larger and neater pile of homework that I have placed on top of the arm rest.

"You've done this before though," she whines.

I hear a soft knock on the front door.

"Exactly, I already understand it. You won't learn if I do it for you," I say, watching from the corner of my eye as Dad walks past the living room to answer the door.

"You suck!" she exclaims.

"No, I don't. You, on the other hand suck at math," I tease.

"So, help me!" She jabs me in the stomach and I grab her hand to stop her doing it again.

"Blaine?"I look up at Dad stood in the doorway."Kurt's here."

I must noticeably tense, because Saffron cocks her head to the side in interest. I nudge her head with my leg and she shifts so she's sat cross legged, allowing me to move and pass the curious figure of my Dad.

Kurt is staring at his shoes, or perhaps the small spider that is running along my doormat when I get there. I clear my throat to get his attention and he looks up with wide and apprehensive eyes.

"Hi," he says.

"Hi." I cross my arms against my chest, and wait for him to speak first. He doesn't. "Can I help you?"

Kurt bites his lip and juts his chin out nervously. "I uh, I wanted to apologize."

My eyebrows knot together in surprise. "You do?"

"Yeah." He shifts awkwardly.

I sense movement behind me and turn to see Dad disappearing into the living room. I don't trust him or Saffron to not listen in, so I place the door on the latch and step outside, closing it behind me.

"For what?"

"Giving you the cold shoulder," he mumbles. "I talked to Santana."

I nod. "What did she say?"

"That you didn't actually do ... it. And sort of demanded I get over myself." He scowls at the last part and I wonder what her exact wording was.

"I didn't know she was going to lie to everyone." I say quietly.

"I realize that now," Kurt avoids my eye. "And I should have known you wouldn't do it, I just. I guess I felt like you were tip toeing back into the closet for good, and it, and I hated that, and I just, I-"

He breaks off awkwardly.

"I told her," I say, to fill the silence.

"I know, she said."

"First step Santana, second step, the world, right?" I say with a half-hearted chuckle.

Kurt's chin wobbles and I step towards him in concern. "Hey, why are you...?"

"Nothing I just..." Kurt hunches over a little and takes a deep breath. "Let me get this out. I guess I reacted so badly because I - I can't stand the thought of anyone else being with you. And I was jealous. And I was mad at myself for saying no to you, but mad at you for dating her and I guess I'm just really selfish, because it's not like I have any claim to you."

Even if I'd tried, I couldn't have looked away. Every sense has latched onto him, trying to take in every detail, over analyze his every gesture, every word, just ... him. And I want to tell him he's wrong. I want him to know he does have a claim to me, and all he has to do is take it. But I can't do that, because I can't let him see how much his decision to stay away hurts. I don't want to make this harder for him.

"I can understand that," is what I actually say.

He nods. "I'm still sorry. Even if you did sleep with her, I have no right to be mad at you."

"Come here." I unravel my arms from my chest and he falls into them with ease, wrapping securely around my neck. "I forgive you," I whisper in his ear.

He nods into my neck, and I relax into the embrace, enjoying it while it lasts. Eventually he lets go and eases himself away. I close my eyes when his hand lifts to my cheek, because I know I couldn't control myself if they remained open. Not this close to him. His lips press against my forehead, his thumb simultaneously swiping absently across my cheek and I fight to remain breathing. And then he's stepped away to give us both room, and I have to lean against the side of the house to steel myself.

"Thank you," he says. "I better go. I left the oven on, and god knows Finn won't be keeping an eye on it."

I chuckle.

He gives me a small wave and begins to walk along my path, but stops.

"Oh I almost forgot. You know you were saying the other week that you need to get a job?"

I nod.

"My dad's Saturday boy at the garage quit recently, so he can spend more time on school work. Anyway, I told Dad that you rebuilt that Chevy a couple of summers ago, and he said he'd be happy to take you on. If - if you want."

Kurt smiles hopefully at me.

"You asked your dad to give me a job?"

"Technically I just brought up the Chevy and he did the rest." Kurt looks proud of himself and I chuckle at his subtle manipulation.

"Are you serious? He'll give me a job?" I say excitedly.

"If you want it. I'll get my Dad to come over tomorrow or something and he can talk specifics - MPPH!"

He doesn't finish his sentence because I've launched myself at him, and wrapped my arms around his shoulders.

"Thank you, thank you, thank you!"

Kurt laughs and squeezes me back. "Is that a yes?"

I squeeze him in response and kiss his cheek. "Yes."

My hands latch onto the back of his shirt a little tighter, because I've realised what I just did. To his credit he barely reacts to the kiss and ... oh screw it, he kissed my forehead first! I relax back into him.

Eventually I release him and he stumbles backwards, a little breathless. "Okay, I really better check on that dinner."

I grin at him.

"See you at school," I call after him as he reaches the sidewalk. I wait until he's back in his driveway before I give him another wave and step back inside the house. I warm my socked toes on the carpet.

"You like him, don't you?"

Dad is stood by the living room door again, hands buried deep within his pockets as he scrutinizes my face. I nod slowly, because there is no point in lying. I make to pass him so I can finish my homework, but his hand falls against my shoulder.

I can't quite discern the look on his face. He isn't mad. I know that much. Dad is never mad at me for how I feel. Then again he doesn't look happy for me either.

"Be careful," he says, after a moment. And then he's gone, disappearing into the kitchen.

I try to ignore the way my heart hammers in my throat as I settle beside Saffron again. I try to ignore the sympathetic grimace she gives me. I try to ignore the unsettling feeling that Dad knows I've told Kurt. And I most definitely try to ignore the spot where my forehead is still burning, from having his lips pressed against it not even two minutes ago.

'_Be careful.'_

If only he knew.

* * *

><p><strong>AN I decided to spare you guys a cliffhanger this time. The last one was kinda mean. Apologies for the lack of Klaine and if it was a bit slow. It was all necessary development though. I promise you Klaine sweetness next chapter. That is a guarantee. Possibly even Klaine hanging out in the garage...**

**Personally I don't actually agree with Santana's meddling and I don't think Kurt is doing anything wrong by sticking by his principles, but it's always nice to get another perspective on the situation in there. **

**P.S Main warbler Nick isn't gay in this story. That's just Santana being manipulative ;)**


	15. Baby its Cold Outside

**A/N:  I am SO sorry! It's been two months! I haven't abandoned the story I promise. I won't do that. Work got hectic and this chapter was rewritten no less than seven times because I was unhappy with it. I'm still worried you'll all hate it, but I figured I'd better stop keeping you waiting. **

**Thank you to everyone who has read and reviewed so far. You are wonderful. I can't believe this has had 50,000 hits. WOW! I'm humbled. I promise I will try and update earlier this time. And mega thanks to my biggest cheerleader Till The Tears Stop Falling. She's epic. Go read her stories :)**

**I hope this 8,400 words makes up for the time :(**

**Disclaimer: Glee isn't mine. If it was I would stop it spoon feeding everyone moral messages and go back to being a dark comedy. **

* * *

><p><span>Chapter Fifteen<span>

_"Last Christmas, I gave you my heart, but the very next day, you gave it away._

_This year, to save me from tears, I'll give it to someone special!"_

So, I'm not what you would generally call a morning person, but in this instance, I seem to have turned into one. It's 7.30am the week school breaks up for Christmas, and for the first time in a really long time, I can honestly say I'm fairly happy. Well, content is probably a more accurate description. Enough to have me bopping around my room singing along with my iPod, as I ready myself for school.

Pulling my socks on (mainly in an effort to convince Kurt I own some), I sigh happily. Things genuinely seem okay between us right now. There's still a lingering sense of unfinished business, but it's not dominating my mind like it was. And considering everything that has been going down in the last few weeks with Karofsky, Santana, and Sectionals, the lead up to Christmas has been uneventful by comparison. In fact, for reasons I cannot fathom, Karofsky's return to school was drama free.

From the moment he stepped back through the front doors, the Glee club and I instigated Operation: Lady-Face (Santana made it catch on, much to Kurt's chagrin). Finn in particular, who seems to be feeling guilty about not noticing his brother was in trouble, has barely left Kurt's side. We've built up a routine. Whoever is in his next class, or in the closest classroom to him, takes him to class.

Our efforts seem to be unnecessary though. Karofsky's avoiding him. An eventuality Kurt suspects has more to with the constant and intimidating presence of Sue Sylvester walking the same halls, than anything else.

So, with a few burdens lifted from my mind, I have had time to concentrate on the things I should have been before: my work load (which has gotten huge in the run up to Christmas), keeping an eye on my sister, sorting out when I am going to start working at Mr. Hummel's shop, and choosing an audition song for the Kings Island Christmas Spectacular.

_"Once bitten, and twice shy, I keep my distance, but you still catch my eye._

_Tell me baby, do you recognize me? Well, it's been a year, it doesn't surprise me."_

I stumble to my feet, skipping over to my bed ... only to walk backwards again and glance expectantly at the amused figure of Kurt, who watches me from his room. A casual hip rests against his window sill, and he opens the latch to call over.

"Someone's in a very good mood this morning."

Yes, so much so that I'm not even embarrassed at being caught singing Wham. Rather them than the Spice Girls. I shrug and beam at him. "It's nearly Christmas."

Kurt rolls his eyes affectionately. "Picked a song yet?"

I shake my head. My audition is tomorrow afternoon.

Kurt studies me. "You'll be fine, you know."

I bite my lip. He can't know that. Auditioning in Glee club is an effort for me. I know I managed to perform well at Sectionals without falling flat on my face, or vomiting, but I had the whole group with me. I'm auditioning for a duet this time. God, what if the girl they pick is horrible? I can't back out though. My sister found it on Facebook and has been nagging me to give it a try ever since.

"Maybe," I say.

Kurt opens his mouth to respond but is interrupted by Burt hollering up the stairs. He gives me a little flutter of the fingers and hollers, "Dad, lay off the pancakes!" as he shuts his bedroom door behind him.

Yeah, things have been looking up lately. The rest of the day flies by in a sea of homework, avoiding Karofsky, going over Rachel's gold star infested Christmas song book, and decorating the tree the guys from Glee club found abandoned by the side of the road.

By the time I pull into my sister's school, I am no closer to choosing a song to sing. The ignition is flicked off absently, and I hum a few bars of White Christmas, testing it out ... too melancholy.

Happy for the distraction, I pick up my flashing phone and grin at Jade's name. Maybe she'll know which song I should pick.

"Hey stranger," I say cheerily.

_"When were you planning on telling me you were dating a girl?"_

My smile drops in confusion. "I'm sorry, what?"

_"You heard me."_ Jade's tone is un-amused.

"What are you talking about? I didn't date a girl."

_"In Ohio, idiot,"_ she counters.

How would she know? "Huh?"

_"I got a message from a girl by the name of Santana?"_ She pauses for effect and I groan aloud. Santana's been messaging my old friends?

"Oh no, please ignore everything she says. She's kind of um – she's kind of..."

_"Blunt?"_

"Yeah, what she say?"

_"That you guys had been dating more or less since you moved there. Nice going by the way. I said you were hot."_

Chuckling to myself I rub at my face, happy she can't see my embarrassment.

_"Anyway, she said something about you telling her you were a capital G gay – her words not mine - and that she had some questions for me."_

My interest is piqued now. "Questions?"

_"About ... Peter."_

"Shit!" My hand covers my mouth in surprise at myself, and I check around for any witnesses. Thankfully there aren't many people dawdling near my car. "What did you tell her?"

_"It was weeks ago, and I told her it wasn't my story to tell, and that if she wants to know she should ask you."_

I breathe a sigh of relief.

_"Unfortunately I just discovered my jackass of a boyfriend isn't so thoughtful."_

"He – he said something? W-what did he – I?-"

_"Not a lot more than you've already told her from what I can gather,"_ she soothes.

I hear Matt grumble in the background. The nervous tap of my fingers against the steering wheel only serves to heighten my anxiety in the silent car.

_"Okay, he wrote - oh hang on let me find it - 'Hi Santana, I vaguely recall Blaine mentioning you too.' Yada yada 'I have a girlfriend ...' Okay, the abridged version is: he went into a little detail about the talent show, and that Peter publicly humiliated you. She mentioned this in her original message, so I assume you told her?"_

I'm nodding before I realize she can't see. "I mentioned it, yes."

_"Did you tell her everything?"_

"No." I pinch the bridge of my nose. "I gave her the abridged version. Even more abridged than the version Kurt got."

_"Okay ... you're not going to like this. You know how there was that video of the uh ... incident, that went viral around the school? Well, Matt mentioned it in passing and might have hinted that it is floating on the web."_

It's like splintered shards of ice have stabbed into my gut, and a feeling I haven't felt since I left New Jersey comes back, with the force of an entire football team. Fear.

_"Blaine calm down,"_ she snaps. _"Breathe."_I breathe in deep and exhale heavily. My head feels light._"Blaine?"_

"I'm here," I say.

_"How intelligent is Santana? Is she likely to pick up on a casual reference to a video and go searching for it?"_

I think about my ex-girlfriend and her cunning ways. How she seems to read me like a book. How observant she can be. The ways she weaselled into my life without so much as a thought to what I wanted.

Swallowing through my dry throat, I rasp out a response. "She'll pick up on that."

_"If she finds it, what will she do with it?"_

I'm scared to answer that question, because the truth is I don't know. I thought she was okay with me being gay. Perhaps she hasn't forgiven me like I thought. Maybe I'm gullible and she's snooping to expose me to the entire school. It is times like this I truly despise the internet. Does that one event have to plaque me everywhere I go?

"I don't want to find out."

* * *

><p>Why do good moods never last? I should have known that Santana would try and interfere in some way. Interfere with what though? The entire drive back to my house is spent mulling over this brand new information, and the only conclusive decision made is that I have no clue what Santana's angle is. Jade wouldn't worry me with this if she wasn't concerned. My mood must be noticeable, because even Saffron hasn't attempted to talk to me on the way home. Although that might have more to do with that head cheerleader girl, trying to hit on me again.<p>

I will never understand girls.

I don't question her when she leaves the car as soon as possible and stomps up the pathway to the door. And before I know what I'm doing, I'm outside Kurt's front door, and have knocked three times. Finn lets me in with a, "Hey dude!" and then I'm sat up in his room, not listening to him babble on about the merits of different songs for my audition. Just letting the soothing sea that I associate with his voice, lull the stressed thump of my heart.

"Hey." Kurt stops the shuffle of the sheet music in his hands and examines me with his head cocked to the side. I squirm from my spot on the floor. God, I hate it when he does that. I always feel like his piercing eyes, that are a sleepy grey today, can see right through me. Maybe it's the way he barely blinks those impossibly long eyelashes.

"Sorry, I zoned out," I mumble and take the sheet he's held for me.

Kurt's answering smile is wane. "You're not as bubbly as you were this morning," he notes.

I shrug. "I got a phone call from Jade that kind of through me for a loop, earlier."

Kurt nods once, and gestures towards the sheet in my hand. "Now I know this is a duet, but you never know, they might have someone on hand to sing it with you. It would certainly give you a playful edge."

Baby Its Cold Outside. I grin at the title, despite my muted mood. "The date rape song," I say approvingly. "I doubt they'll have someone around to sing it with, but okay."

"Ah," Kurt hops off of his desk chair and settles himself, cross legged and elegant beside me on the floor, "but that's why we're going to pick another one more suited to singing alone as well. This is just to show off your versatility. I think it would be pretty stupid of them to not allow duets, for an audition for a pair, don't you think?"

His words make more sense than anything else has today. "True. I haven't sung this song in forever though," I admit.

"Oh, such a shame you don't know any fabulously well dressed singers to practice with," Kurt sighs dramatically.

I laugh out loud. Actually clutch my sides.

Kurt smiles, self satisfied. "Besides, I'm actually Marley's ghost, and I'm here to tell you, that you worry too much. And that you should practice."

I bite my lip to try and hold a straight face. "Kurt, would you sing this duet with me, and make sure I don't suck?"

In answer he snatches the sheet music from me and throws it over his shoulder. "I thought you'd never ask." Before long, Kurt's pressed play on his iPod and the gentle piano is trickling through his speakers. I hop to my feet too, spin around as the strings join the keys in harmony and sit down on his bed, gesturing for him to start.

"_I really can't stay_," he sings, looking up at the ceiling apologetically. I can't stop the grin that envelopes my face.

I jump in too, "_But, baby, its cold outside_."

He shrugs. "_I've got to go 'way,"_

_"But baby, its cold outside."_

_"The evening has been, so very nice."_

I walk towards him and ghost my hands over his. "_I'll hold your hands, they're just like ice_."

Kurt skips away to the other side of the room and I sit where he was, amused. _"My mother will start to worry."_

I hold my arms up in confusion. _"Hey beautiful, what's your hurry?"_

My eyes barely leave him throughout the song. It takes all of my questionable will power, not to trip over the bed in my bid to catch him, such is his pull over me. Eventually we are sat on opposite sides of the bed, and he's holding his hands up as if to say 'no', although the coy smile directly in my direction, tells me otherwise.

_"I oughtta say no, no, no sir,"_ he sings, and I shuffle across the bed towards him.

_"You mind if I move in closer?"_

He sighs resignedly and leans away from me. "_At least I'm gonna' say that I tried."_

I pout and come even closer, my nose grazing over his. "_What's the sense in hurting my pride?_" Something I don't recognize flashes in his eyes and his mouth falls open to draw in a big breath. It's gone a moment later though and he's skipped across to the other side of the room.

_"I've got to get home."_ He blinks fast like he's dropped out of a daydream and avoids my eye.

I swallow down the disappointment that he moved away and counter him. _"Baby, you'll freeze out there."_

_"Say, lend me a comb."_

_"It's up to your knees out there."_ I walk towards him slowly, aware of the tension that holds his shoulders by his ears.

_"You've really been grand."_

I graze my fingers over his hand. "_I thrill when you touch my hand."_

He shakes his head, all playful twinkles receding from his eyes. "_Oh, but don't you see."_

_"How can you do this thing to me?"_I smile in a bid to let him know I'm not thinking that. That I don't blame him.

He looks down at the floor wistfully. _"There's bound to be talk tomorrow."_

I shrug. _"Well, think of my lifelong sorrow."_

_"At least there will be plenty implied."_ He smiles winningly at me, but it doesn't reach his eyes. Still, I play along. This whole number has gotten a little personal.

_"If you caught pneumonia and died."_

He gestures for me to sit down on the bed, and I counter it. He rolls his eyes and perches down first, me settling close to his hip a second later, looking up at the ceiling to try and ignore how warm he feels beside me.

We sing in unison "_Oh, baby its cold outside_."

The Ipod moves onto some other Christmas song, but I'm not listening, too intent on the shallow breathes of the boy beside me.

"Well, I uh, yeah I think if you can do that, you'll get it." Kurt clears his throat, and walks over to his desk, to shuffle through the sheet music laid in an untidy heap.

"Thanks Kurt," I say.

"For what?" He glances in my direction, but doesn't catch my eye.

"Helping me out, and distracting me," I say honestly. He smiles, but it's thinner than usual. There's an awkward silence, in which I lift my feet up onto his bed and rest my chin on my knee. I bite my lip. "I think Santana's been snooping about me."

Kurt looks at me properly then, eyes wide as saucers. "She... huh?"

"That's what Jade's phone call was about," I elaborate. Kurt's mouth opens a few times, before he settles on a frown. I know how he feels. His face seems to reflect how I feel about the situation too; confused, suspicious, and angry.

"What did she say?"

"Something about Santana messaging her and Matt and asking some personal questions about me. Apparently she did it weeks ago, but she didn't see any point in telling me, until she realized she'd tried to get information out of Matt too."

Kurt nods, and looks reluctantly back down at the sheets still clutched in his hand. His grip tightens on it a moment, and then places it back down on the desk.

"Does that upset you?"

How could it not? "I guess I'm just worried about her angle. What if she's mad at me about leading her on, and she's snooping to try and find dirt on me?" Saying it aloud makes the possibility sound so much more real, and I gulp through my thick throat.

"She's not."

"You don't know that."

"I know Santana." Kurt grasps my face between his soft fingers, and then realizes what he's doing and releases it. His throat clears. "I've known her longer. She might be an asshole most of the time, but she wouldn't do that. If she is snooping, she has a good reason."

I look up at him doubtfully.

He shakes his head. "She wouldn't."

Maybe. I nod to say I've taken in his words. I'm still not sure though.

* * *

><p>"I think I'm going to be sick."<p>

It's the afternoon of my audition. Boys have been trickling into the room across the hall for over an hour now, and they're running late. Typical. My mouth is dry, my leg's dancing its own jig across the floor, and I have the mad urge to jump up on my chair, and hop between the scattered chairs around the room - anything to take my mind off of things. I doubt they'd appreciate me getting dirt on the seats though, so I stay put, taking comfort from my sister's calm presence beside me.

Saffron rolls her eyes, and continues playing on her cell. "Bathroom is down the hall."

I scowl at her. "This was your idea! You could be a bit more sympathetic," I grumble, and close my eyes to concentrate on anything other than the churn of my stomach. I hate auditions. I hate performing. I hate my sister for finding the stupid information for this stupid suicide attempt. And I especially hate Kurt for getting me to join Glee club. My obvious lapse in judgment wouldn't be happening, if it wasn't for him and his stupid convincing words and gorgeous eyes. Damn him.

"Blaine, if you were going to vomit, you would have done it already."

"Don't say vomit."

"Vomit."

"Saff!"

"Will you chill out!" she exclaims. "You're a good singer, and even better performer. What's his face, next door may not be my favorite person in the world, but he got you back on stage. If he weren't gay, and you didn't have the hots for him, I would suck his face. Now shut up."

I cross my arms and sink lower in my seat moodily, too uptight to even feel embarrassed about her observation about me and Kurt. "That was the worst pep talk I have _ever_ had."

"Sorry, I'm all out of chocolate covered sympathy. If you wanted to be pandered, you should have brought Skin-tight-jeans with you."

"He's busy."

The door to the audition room opens, and the woman who has been calling everyone steps out. Saff and I stare at her expectantly. Only she ignores us and speaks into her walkie talkie.

"Dave, I think we might need a little help here, Mr. St. James is making a scene."

It's only then I notice the yelling in the other room. Intrigued, we watch as the tall curly haired guy, who informed me I was wasting my time and to go home earlier, is hauled out by two men.

"This show will be nothing without my talents. The girl will be mediocre at best. How do you expect to pull a greater audience and appeal, without me? You need me."

"I'm sure we'll manage, Mr. St. James. Enjoy your Christmas and journey back to California," the clipboard lady says, as two other men appear around the corner to drag the man off.

"You don't even want my autograph?" he exclaims. We stare in fascination as his fingers grasp at the door frame as he is pulled through.

The door is slammed shut and the clipboard lady heaves a long suffering sigh, and addresses me. "We'll be ready for you soon, pumpkin." And then she's gone.

"Holy crap that was awesome!" Saffron says, awed. "If everyone at these things is bat shit crazy, I'll come support you every time."

I nod in agreement, too dumbfounded to scold her for swearing. We're silent for a few minutes. "Seriously, I think I'm going to hurl on the stage," I say.

My sister sighs and lifts the coffee cup balanced on the neighboring chair to her lips. I watch queasily as the liquid disappears down her throat, and hear the noisy smack of her lips once finished. The cup is thrust into my hands.

"Chuck up in that."

I hold it gingerly. "Thanks."

She grins and rests her head on my shoulder, rubbing the other with her palm. "You'll be fine. And if they don't hire you, I'll find out where they live and shine my laser pen in their windows, so they think they are being assassinated."

I bark out a laugh. "That was one time! How was I supposed to know you were hiding outside the living room with it?"

"Blaine Anderson?"

We sober immediately. Clip board lady is back. The hand clutching my shoulder squeezes tight. I hold the cup blindly out too Saffron.

She eyes it appraisingly. "You sure you shouldn't take it in? You'll get brownie points for being tidy, if you do throw up," she says, so seriously that I can't keep from grinning as I follow the woman through the door.

"Good Luck!"

* * *

><p>I can't stop grinning. I got it. What was I so worried about again? Oh yeah, the stage fright thing. Yeah ... that might be a problem on the actual nights I perform. There will be more than three people in the room, but still - progress.<p>

"I told you you'd get it," Saffron says from the passenger side, smugly.

"Shut up." There's no malice in it. The wide grin on my face sees to that. I pull into our driveway, and park with a happy sigh. I didn't throw up. Or choke. Not even a hesitation. I just sang, and they hired me on the spot. Although I think anything could have been better than the guy before me.

With the ignition off, I relax back in my seat. I have to tell Kurt. I was going to call or text him, but now I figure he'll want to hear this face to face. He's going to be so amazed! Saffron yanks my car keys from me and hauls my school bag onto her shoulder. She rolls her eyes at my confusion and exits the vehicle.

"Go tell lover boy, before you pee yourself."

Swatting at her as she walks past; I obey her orders and hop over the fence, treading carefully through the foliage on Kurt's property side. I know he won't appreciate the mess if I walk it into his house.

"Hey kid." Burt beams when he answers the door. "You here for your new work schedule?"

"Um, no, I'm actually here to tell Kurt something," I say sheepishly.

Burt pays no mind and waves me through. "Tell him and that girl that I won't tolerate any monkey business." He chortles at his own joke.

I frown. Girl? Oh, maybe his History partner is a girl. Or perhaps Mercedes is over. I've spent many an evening over on my side watching Kurt expertly manicure her nails and paste green stuff on her face. It's not creepy that I do that. Nope. Trotting upstairs, I pad quietly across the carpeted corridor to his room, making as little sound as possible. If he is studying I don't want to interrupt.

His doorway is ajar slightly, allowing me to see the flicker of a TV or laptop in the dark bedroom. Are they watching a DVD? I shouldn't interrupt. I can text him instead. I'm halfway down the hallway again when something catches my attention: specifically, the extremely familiar voice drifting from his room.

Me. Only it isn't me now. I sound younger. Curiously I approach his doorway again, careful not to breathe too loudly. It could just be another kid who sounds like I once did. That's ore likely. The singing stops. Unsurprising seeing as I haven't sung that song since ... my heart drops down into my stomach – since the talent show.

I press myself against the wall outside the room and listen fearfully. It can't be. Breathing labored, heart thundering, there's no denying it when his voice sounds out of nowhere, like a nightmare visiting me even when I'm awake. He sounds younger too as he addresses the audience. I know what's coming. My confused vocals ask him what he's doing. That's definitely me. I could even tell you what shoes I was wearing the day I asked those words. He laughs into the microphone, and I don't have to be in the room to see it. To watch as he slings his arm around my shoulder, and I lean into it, smiling weakly, even though I have no clue what is happening. I feel my own anxiety turn into dread, confusion even, and imagine my ashen face as he announces to the entire auditorium that;

_"What old Blainers over here, doesn't want you to know, is that he likes watching you shower in the locker room ... no not you girls. The guys on the other hand ..."_

There is silence in the other room, and I recall myself looking from Peter and the stunned crowd in horror. Younger me closes his eyes, waiting for it start. And then it does. One person laughs, and the sounds titters across the crowd like grasshoppers in the tall grass. Only they aren't small and harmless bugs. They're sheep, happy to be herded in whatever direction their leader will point them in. So they laugh and jeer. I can practically feel it again as the microphone falls from my limp grasp and I try and run from the stage, but his hand grabs at the scruff of my neck and hoists me back towards him. His strong arm is slapped onto my shoulder and my knees buckle at the force.

_"Where you going, Anderson? We're all friends here. We're confidants. We tell each other everything, right?"_

_"That's enough Mr Lance."_My old History teacher. I don't remember that.

He ignores her and chuckles into the microphone._"I'm not even making this shit up. He actually told me."_

"Fuck."

I'm startled by the voice. It's not Mercedes. Not even caring right now if they see me, I walk into the open doorway and squint in at Kurt and Santana. Of course it's Santana. They're crowded around his desk, where his laptop is perched open, screening the entire ordeal of my past. Kurt's hunched over, fingers splayed over his face.

A tear slides down my cheek as our conversation from yesterday floats into the forefront of my memory. He knew. He knew she was looking for it.

_"The best part is I fooled the idiot."_ I can see Peter addressing the crowd in the small video, and I watch as a younger me struggles to be released. _"Shit head actually thought I wouldn't tell anyone!"_

I've had enough of this. I stumble into the door frame in my haste to leave and hastily manoeuvre myself back into the corridor.

"Dad?"

Run. Burt might have called a confused goodbye to me, but I've yanked the front door open and fled the scene before I can answer. The press of my feet into the foliage is not careful this time as I haul myself over the fence and trip up the front steps.

"_Blaine?_" Kurt's panicked cry makes my hand shake, as I jam my key into the lock and throw the door open. I'm up the stairs in record time. Bang goes my door. And then again as I punch it. It feels good. And again. It hurts this time, but I don't care. I'd rather have bleeding knuckles than a past that bleeds into my present and makes me feel ... this again. There's a few old equestrian trophies sat gloomy and neglected on a shelf on the other side of my room, so I grasp the largest and throw it as hard as I can into the opposite wall. The wall clearly isn't brick, considering the jagged ends of the trophy slice through the plaster.

"Blaine?" My door opens. Wide eyed Saffron gawps as the next trophy breaks into pieces at her feet. "What are you ... what?"

"Go away, Saffron."

"Blaine, calm down," she pleads. I push her out of my room and slam the door in her face, only to jump onto my bed and bury my face into my duvet. I scream. My pillow isn't as satisfying to punch but I do it anyway.

The door opens hesitantly and I hear the careful patter of her socked feet approaching me. "Blaine?"

"Go away, Saff," I mumble into my pillow.

"Like hell, I will." She settles on the bed beside me. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing."

"Why are you upset then?"

"I'm not."

"Clearly," she says dryly. She's silent for a few moments and I feel her hand soothe up and down my back lightly. "It – it's not happening again is it?"

Turning I look up at her bent over me. Her top lip is caught between her teeth in anxiety. I shake my head. "No, not like that," I reassure.

"Then what is it?"

"Nothing you need to concern yourself with." My words are short and harsh and I grimace as her face falls and her mouth morphs into a thin and stubborn line.

"Fine, be a jerk. Don't tell me."

"Oh, you mean like you tell me everything" I snap before I can stop myself.

She withdraws her hand from my back in surprise. "What?"

"You think I don't know you hide things from me? I'm not stupid, Saff. So why don't you just back off my problems until you're ready to tell me yours."

The moment the words are out I wish I could take them back, anything that would take that look off of her face.

"Fine," she says, and storms towards my bedroom door, only to falter as a pound on the front door below us interrupts the tense silence.

She makes a beeline for the stairs and disappears out of my sight. By the time I'm aware I should have told her to not answer the door, familiar voices are already accompanying hers, and I grumble to myself on the way across the room to quietly close my door.

_Don't let them in, don't let them in._

"Hey! You can't just barge in here!" Saffron yells.

Who was I kidding? Santana would have just used the razor blades she claims she stores in her hair to break in. I lean against my door and try to ignore the incessant hammer of my heart at my throat, because hey, why should it be easy for me to breathe at a time like this?

"What are you doing? If you are the reason he's upset, then he won't want to talk to you. Now leave." Saffron's argument is muffled through the thick door.

"Santana, let her go!" Kurt snaps.

Yanking my door open I freeze at the sight of Santana and Kurt grappling with the door of the closet. My sisters' dark curls are looping out from where she's been shoved inside.

"Santana let her go and get out!" I say harshly. Only I'm allowed to lock her in a closet.

Santana releases the door and her hands come up by her head in hasty surrender. Kurt's glaring at her from behind, a protective hand on Saffron's shoulder.

"I said get out!" Tears prickle at my eyes and I gently tug Saffron towards me.

"Blaine, I'm sorry," Kurt says earnestly. "I told her not to barge in here."

"Saff, please go to your room."

Saffron's glare is mutinous; clearly communicating she has no intention of going anywhere. I shake my head at her meaningfully and she sighs in defeat, her vicious glare directed at Santana up until the moment she stomps through her bedroom door.

"Why were you trying to lock my sister in a closet?" I say coolly.

"She was blocking my way," Santana replies tersely.

I study her unusually uncomfortable profile. "Touch her again and I don't care what part of Lima you are from, I will hurt you. Okay?"

The slam of my bedroom door is loud and solid, a clear indication that this and all other discussion is over. I lean against it, in case one of them tries to barge in anyway. They don't. Instead a tentative knock sounds against the thick wood.

"Blaine, please can I talk to you?" His voice is timid.

"Blaine, open the damn door!" Santana snaps.

"How is that helping?" Kurt snipes. I slide down to the floor and lean my head against it. "Blaine, please let me in. Or we can just talk through the door. I just really need to explain. I know it looks bad but it ... okay; it's exactly how it looked. I can't explain that away ... just please hear us out."

"Fine. Talk."

There's a beat of silence. "Okay. I know we had no right to go behind your back," Kurt begins.

"You think?" I grumble, more to myself than my audience behind the door.

Kurt sighs. "We – we were worried," he says lamely. "I know that sounds like a really poor excuse right now, but-" Another pause like Kurt is weighing out his words. "You are so guarded. I know you told me about what Peter did to you at the talent show, and I'm so grateful you trusted me with that ... it still felt like you were holding details back though. Santana convinced me-"

"Hey!"

"You and I both know it was your idea," Kurt snaps. Santana doesn't respond. I can imagine her eyes rolling up into her skull.

"As I was saying – Santana convinced me that the only way we were going to understand you and your experience, was if we asked someone who wasn't you ..."

I scowl up at my ceiling.

"Blaine, I'm so sorry."

I take a shuddering breath. Somehow, I don't know if it's the shake in his voice, or what, but I know he isn't apologizing for watching the video anymore. He's regretful of what it contained.

"Don't," I say.

Kurt breathes a hard breath and a light thump makes me think he's leant his head against the door. "Blaine..."

"It's nothing." My chin trembles.

"Blaine ..." Kurt's soft voice that is usually such a comfort, is the last thing I want to hear; least of all with that tone of voice. I don't want his pity. "You don't have to tell us. I would like to understand though."

"Can't you just pretend like you never saw it? It's nothing. Please, forget that it, it ..." I choke back a sob.

I don't need this. I don't want to remember. I don't want them to know or understand the full extent of the humiliation that still to this day, dictates my actions. And suddenly I'm angry. It ignites in my stomach and spreads through my limbs until my hands have clenched into fists. Stumbling to my feet, I yank the door open and look down fiercely at Kurt settled cross legged by my door. I'm ready to yell myself hoarse at the pair of them for making me feel this raw again.

The tears that glisten in his eyes stop me. He looks terrified and sad, and the anger is doused out as quickly as it burst into being. "He did that to you?" Kurt says, eyes pleading for the truth.

"It's nothing." If I say it enough times, maybe it will be one day.

"No it's not," he says. "Blaine, this isn't ... nothing."

"Well, I want it to be nothing!" I snarl.

Kurt has risen to his feet now, and takes a tentative step towards me. I take a step back. He comes forward again, eyes never wavering from my own. I fight the itch to slam the door in his and Santana's face.

"I want to understand what that was," Kurt says softly. He doesn't move again and my tense shoulders ease somewhat.

"You could see, what happened," I argue weakly. Don't make me say it.

Kurt squares his shoulders and bites his lip. The look in his eyes is reminiscent of a wildlife lover maintaining eye contact with a deer or rabbit, as he tries to not spook it.

"He said he fooled you," Kurt begins. "What did he mean by that?" I shake my head at him in a silent plea to drop it. "I need to hear it from you, sweetie."

I'm taken aback by the term of endearment. Maybe if I do this now I'll heal again quicker. Rip the band aid off, as they say. Shakily I break eye contact and settle on my bed in resignation. Kurt and Santana take it as the invite it is, and tentatively step over the threshold. Once the door is closed I begin.

"He ... do you remember I told you that the first person I came out to was-"

"Saffron." Kurt nods.

"Yeah ... I told you that she saw me looking at that guy in the park as he walked past. She worked out that I liked him and started teasing me," I recite, more for Santana's benefit than ours.

"She was really young, right?" Kurt prompts. "Didn't understand."

"Exactly, I made her keep quiet because I didn't want anyone knowing I liked a boy. Especially not ... him." I stare meaningfully at him. Kurt frowns like he is missing something. And then-

"OH!" Kurt's hand claps over his mouth. His wide eyes search mine for confirmation of his realization. I nod. "Seriously?"

I blush. "I couldn't control it."

"Am I missing something here?" Santana interrupts from where she has settled on the floor in the corner. I blink in surprise. I'd almost forgotten her presence, since she moved out of my eye line.

"Blaine had a crush on Peter Lance when he was thirteen," Kurt explains wearily.

"Oh ew!"

"He hadn't bullied me that badly, up until that point," I say sheepishly. I know it's a weak defense though. The truth is my hormonal and confused head was far too idealistic and naive.

"So, Saffron found out you liked the douche and you made her keep quiet," Kurt sums up for me.

"Yes. Only she didn't quite manage to keep quiet," I say.

Kurt's mouth gapes open.

"She didn't mean to," I say bitterly. "She was only young."

"Now I'm glad I tried to force the Smurf into a closet," Santana grumbled. I shoot her a dirty look.

"How did that happen," Kurt presses

"Mom and Dad had an argument about a year later that was bad enough to drive Saff from the house. When I finally located her in the park, she wasn't alone. Peter was there."

Kurt raised an eyebrow in alarm.

"It wasn't sinister, I don't think. At least I hope not." I shudder at the thought of him doing anything to her. "I was surprised, though. Peter was never without his friends, and yet there he was, sat on the next swing over from Saffron, talking and laughing with her. I knew back then that he had manipulated information out of her, because he said to her, 'don't worry I won't tell'. Nothing about me came up for months though, so I assumed she'd told him something small and stupid. Like about the time she broke Mom's favorite vase with a tennis ball, and I took the blame. Things like that. I forgot about it, and added the fact he charmed my sister into my mental list of things I loved about him."

I take a deep breath. "I was in the park on my own about ... six months later when he came in again. Alone. He started talking to me. I mean _really_ talking to me; like he wanted to be my friend. I - I did think it was kind of weird at the time. He'd never spoken to me before and he had this rep for being a bit ... yeah anyway, he'd sneered at me a few weeks earlier and told me to stop peeking at his junk after gym class, so I didn't know what to make of it."

Kurt settles himself in front of me, and rubs my kneecaps in comforting circular motions.

"I gave him the benefit of the doubt because I liked him still. I used to get so stupid around him," I recall with a roll of my eyes.

Kurt cocks his head and smiles up at me in encouragement.

"He kept hanging out with me after school. Never in school. He always said his friends wouldn't understand. Jade told me something seemed off about his sudden interest in me, but I brushed her off and didn't let it bother me."

I laugh humorlessly as Santana perches on my bed beside me. I blush at the pair of them, so focused on every word I say. And as the story is told aloud, it feels like I'm reliving it. I remember the stupid butterflies in my stomach every time he looked at me. I can smell his aftershave. Although this is occasionally overpowered by the beautiful scent that is Kurt.

"I would have done anything to make sure he kept talking to me. It was worth pretending we weren't 'friends' in school, because I got him after school."

"I don't like where this is going," Santana says. I nod pointedly at the door. I didn't want to tell this story anyway. "No way, Hobbit."

I take a deep breath. "And then he told me he was gay."

Santana's mouth drops open comically, but Kurt shows no change. He expected me to say that.

"And I thought Christmas, Easter, Halloween and my birthday had rolled into one."

"Hold up." Santana leans her hand on my shoulder, her brow furrowed. "He's gay?"

I pause and slowly shake my head. "No."

"Then what..."

"He pretended, Santana," Kurt supplies on my behalf. His eyes are on his hands that have been a constant and reassuring pressure against my kneecaps for the last few minutes.

My voice is hoarse and I clear my throat. "I believed him. I was so relieved that I told him I was gay too. And he looked so happy. I thought we were happy about the same thing. I – I guess I thought he was as relieved as I was to have someone to relate to. Who understood even in the smallest measurement, what I was experiencing." I take shuddering breaths. "Turned out his glee was over the fact I'd given him the confirmation he wanted."

Kurt's grip has moved up my thigh slightly, and his fingers dig in through the fabric of my jeans. In any other situation my blood would have pooled in my groin. My mind is too far in the past now.

"The talent show was when he publicly told me he wasn't."

Kurt's eyes close and a shudder passes through him.

Santana says something, but I can't look away from the turmoil that is clearly happening behind Kurt's closed lids.

"Apparently he had some bet on whether he could get me to admit to it. After that, they thought it would be funny to 'out' me in the most public setting they could think of." My lip trembles and I pinch them together.

"Blaine I-" Kurt stands. "I'm so sorry."

I shrug weakly. "You didn't do it."

He bites his lip and regards me with an expression I can't quite place in my catalogue of Kurt expressions. "I never would."

"Anyway ..." I stand up. "That's my sob story. Can we move on, and pretend like this never happened?" Wiping surreptitiously at my face for stray tears, I run my hand over my hair and look around for a distraction. When I turn back to Kurt he hasn't moved, let alone acknowledged my question. I raise my eyebrows at him. "Kurt?"

He blinks out of whatever trance he was under. "Santana, can you give us a few minutes, please?"

She smiles up at us wryly. "Sure. I'll see you at school, B." She presses a lingering kiss to my cheek, mutters an apology in my ear, wipes the lip gloss away affectionately and shuts the door behind her.

I rub at the back of my head in a self conscious habit. "Why'd you send her away?"

"So we would be alone."

"Wh-"

I don't finish my sentence, because in the next moment he has rushed forward and his lips are on mine. I stumble backwards and grip around his waist to keep us up. The feeble walls that were holding back my suppressed feelings for him cave in like they never existed in the first place. Blood thrums in my ears and I break away in confusion.

"Kurt what-"

He swoops back in. My eyes flutter shut and my mouth presses back with equal enthusiasm, reveling in the feel of his arms encircled around my shoulders, his hand buried into my curly hair. I don't understand why this is happening now. I don't want to think about the likelihood this is only a temporary chink in his armor. Instead I let instinct take over, guide my hand up his back to cling to the back of his shirt, and the other to his slim waist. Soon breathing becomes necessary, and we break apart, panting into one another's mouths. Long enough for me to splutter;

"I thought you said no."

"Shh." I'm torn between wanting answers, and giving into his tongue pressing against my lips. I break away. Despite the frustrated growl he aims at me.

"Kurt, no, you can't just ... do that," I stutter. I screw my eyes shut and hold him at arm's length to calm the race of my heart. "I want to. God, I want to. You can't just give me this and then go back to being friends. I can't pretend if you do that."

"That's not what I'm doing," Kurt says, and clutches at my shirt.

It's not? I peek at him through one eye hopefully. Kurt cups my face and shakes his head in confirmation of my silent question. If he can't hear how loud my heart is beating, I'd be very surprised. It feels like it is trying to break out.

"I want to give us a shot," he says.

Opening and closing of its own accord, my mouth struggles to shape words. "But I thought – I – I'm not out."

"I don't care." He pulls me towards my bed and settles me down on the end of it. He presses his forehead to mine. "If you'll have me I'm yours."

This feels too good to be true. His sweet breath on my face is clearly clouding my judgment, because there is no way he just said that. "Kurt-"

"You've already been forced out once. I'm not going to do that to you, too."

I pull back to look at him properly. His chin is trembling In fact, he seems to be shaking all over his body. I rub up and down his arms to soothe him, completely bewildered by his last sentence. "Kurt, you've never tried to out me, what are you talking about?"

"Pressuring you with an ultimatum is just as bad." Kurt's voice is venomous, and I flinch, not because it is directed at me, but because I know he is unfairly judging himself. Somehow I know there will be no way for me to convince him he wasn't doing that to me. At least not right now. Still, I try.

"You never did that," I say softly.

Kurt shakes his head and finds my lips again. For the first time, I smile against his. It's like a weight is lifting off my closed heart, unclenching, surrendering, and allowing me to breathe once more. In the back of my mind I think I hear the door open, a small squeak and the snap of its closure, but Kurt's teeth tug at my bottom lip insistently and it slips my mind. Kurt's mouth trails down my chin to my jaw. I shiver. He presses a kiss to my nose and rests his forehead back on mine. "I'm sorry."

"For what?"

His thumb rubs absently against my cheek. "Turning you down."

I consider his words. "Well, if this really is you changing your mind, I'll forgive and forget. Not that you have anything to apologize for."

"What do you think?" His eyebrow arches upwards. I'm reminded that I haven't said yes yet.

I shift indecisively. "To be honest, I don't want to get my hopes up."

He considers me with an apologetic grimace. "Sorry, I guess you would react that way."

"No, no, Kurt I ... please don't treat me like I'm fragile," I insist and hold his face between my palms, "I'm over what he did. I am."

"Are you sure?" Kurt seems unconvinced.

"I'm positive."

"For the record, I want you to be my boyfriend," Kurt confirms. "I want to try this. And I won't complain that no one can know ... if you do one thing for me." His eyes twinkle at me.

"A condition?" Kurt smirks. I close my eyes in dread. "What is it?"

"You have to let me cut your hair."

I gape at him in horror. "What? No-" I'm cut off by his lips attacking mine. I groan. I'm not sure a haircut is worth this. Kurt's hand moves down my back, grips my ass and he uses my yelp of surprise as opportunity to sneak his tongue in to my mouth and curl it around mine. Blood roars loudly in my ears, and I shudder with want.

On second thoughts...

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><p><strong>AN: tada! Yup they are together. Don't worry I'm not splitting them up any time soon, I promise. I think the next chapter shall have to be mega fluffy to make up for all the Blaine angst :S I hope it wasn't boring, badly written or just plain rubbish :) You can tell me either way, I don't mind.**

**If you have any big questions for me, I have a tumblr account sarkyblueeyes dot tumblr dot com**


	16. Date night

**A/N: Hello my fellow Klainers. Huge apology again for the delay. My job is stressful. Hopefully the HUGE amount of fluff in this chapter makes up for it. Seriously I had to keep a toothbrush by me at all times writing this. Thank you so much for all your kind reviews, story alerts and favourites. I appreciate everyone for giving this silly thing a chance :) You guys are awesome.**

**Massive shout out to my amazing beta Till . the . tears . stop . falling, who continually makes sure all the British spellings are gone and helps me out whenever I ask. She's mega talented so go read her stories. **

**I'm sarkyblueeyes on Tumblr if you want to follow me or ask a question. **

**Disclaimer: Glee isn't mine. Klaine would make out all the time if it was.**

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><p><strong>Torn - Chapter Sixteen<strong>

"Okay, I've decided this is torture," Kurt wines.

I grin over at him in his bedroom. We've been like this for a couple of hours now; he sat on his window seat, I sat on mine, knees bent up to my chest. My phone shifts closer to my mouth.

"What is?"

"I can talk to you and see you, but can't touch. It sucks!" Kurt pouts and leans his head against his bedroom window.

Chuckling to myself I shift my legs so they're flat against the sill and hook one ankle over the other. "I'm not even doing anything," I say.

"Exactly. I could be over there or you here, and we could rectify this problem. But no, you have to be two windows and a steep drop away."

This constant rise of color to my cheeks is really getting embarrassing. It's been four days since that night, and I'm just not used to the attention. Nor am I prepared to fight the images his comments induce in me - so innocent to the untrained ear, but so suggestive to me. Or perhaps my hormones are turning every word on its head, until my mind is sufficiently R rated.

"I guess we could try ... never mind."

Heat creeps up into my ears and I pull my sweater up and over my nose to hide my face. Kurt's eyes are twinkling in amusement across from me.

"You were going to suggest phone sex, weren't you?" he asks.

I burrow my head farther into the soft warmth and keep quiet.

"Stop making me jealous of your sweater!" Kurt exclaims.

A chuckle rumbles through my chest, and the sweater dips down again. "It would be the clothes you are jealous of."

"Of it being wrapped around you so closely? Hell yes."

I groan. There it is again. Any part of him wrapped around me would be pure heaven in my eyes. But no, I can't think like that because we've been secretly dating for four days, and so far we've kept things north of the equator.

Thank goodness for masturbation.

And besides, I have to be patient. There is so much about this relationship he can't control. He can't let his friends know he has a boyfriend. He can't reach out and hold my hand without suspicion. I guess it's only fair thatI give him free reign over the pace we move at.

I let a small smile twist my lips upwards, listening to him jabber on about his dad, Rachel's latest animal sweater ("seriously what on earth possesses her when she shops?"). He's so damn perfect. Unadulterated happiness has been a constant companion since that night, and yet I can't help the doubt that claws at my insides and whispers in my ear when my thoughts are left unguarded. No matter how often I tell myself that he wants this, I can't help feeling exposed - like he could turn around tomorrow and tell me he was wrong. He can't handle being in a secret relationship after all, effectively burning a hole in my heart.

I shiver at the thought. I think of the version of me he saw in that video. Frightened. Humiliated. Betrayed. Something tells me Kurt can hurt me so much more than Peter Lance ever could. And that is the scariest truth of all.

"So, are you looking forward to work?" Kurt's voice pulls me from my head.

"Kings Island or your fathers shop?"

"Both."

My first shift at Mr. Hummel's shop is on Saturday 23rd December, and then I have to be on stage at King's Island for the Christmas Spectacular on Christmas Eve, and I will be performing every night until New Years Day.

"Dreading both," I admit.

"You'll be fine." Kurt gives me a reassuring smile from his room. "I'm going to be there at the garage to make sure Dad isn't too hard on you, and I know you'll kill it at King's Island, even if the girl isn't as fabulous as I am."

I snort. My first meeting with my duet partner Joelle was ... interesting. Turns out the girl they really hired came down with gastric flu on Wednesday, so the understudy is filling in and she's ... uh, well let's say her dramatics on stage genuinely rival Rachel's. And by some force of irony, we will be singing none other than Baby its Cold Outside.

Kurt giggles into his cell and looks over at his door. Mr. Hummel is there. "Oh, I gotta go. Get some sleep!"

I wave at him as he glides over to his bedroom door and disappears, shutting his light off, and I sit back against the wall, cell balanced on my knee. Christmas Eve is on Sunday and I still haven't worked out what to get/do for Kurt. His clothing taste is expensive, so that's out. He just buys all of his music on iTunes, and somehow I can't help thinking he'll want something special from me. Help is definitely needed.

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><p>Help comes in the form of Mercedes as it turns out. It's our last Biology class before the Christmas break, and our teacher has given up on teaching, instead letting us watch a movie while she reads. So I have plenty of opportunity to speak to her, without Kurt chancing on us.<p>

"Boy, you mean to tell me, you've waited this long to Christmas shop?" Mercedes says incredulously. "It's on Monday! Most students are exchanging now. I've got your damn present right here."

She folds her arms unimpressed and I duck my head sheepishly. "I've been ... busy," I settle on. Which isn't a lie; between homework, Kurt, giving Santana the cold shoulder (I'm not actually mad at her for the video thing anymore, I just want to remind her it wasn't cool),

King's Island rehearsals and Glee, I've not had much time to think it over. Not to mention I'm broke. Most of my allowance goes to gas.

"I'm thinking of it now. And I don't know what to get Kurt. I mean, he's my ... b-best friend around here. He's made me feel the most welcome – not that you haven't," I add quickly, as her nostrils flare dangerously. "He's always there though, and I think he deserves a little something ... nicer."

Mercedes smirks. "I take it you're already set on Santana's gift, right? You know, seeing as she's your girlfriend and all that."

Damn it! I forgot about that. I have a fake girlfriend. "She just said to buy her something pretty," I lie quickly.

"Uh huh." Mercedes smiles knowingly and I study my fascinating chemistry textbook cover. Sometimes I wonder how perceptive this girl truly is, or if she's all bravado and knows nothing.

"Look Curly, Kurt tends to get his own stuff, so he is hard to buy for. I've got him a commemorative Kate and William plate, because he's been obsessed ever since they announced their engagement. My cousin was in England a few weeks ago and he says the merchandise is everywhere. He brought me one back for him." She rolls her eyes fondly. "As for you, well, instead of buying him a keepsake, why don't you take him somewhere?"

"Like, where?"

Mercedes narrows her eyes in thought. "My dad has a friend who works at a theatre up in Columbus. The touring production of Rent is there at the moment, and I called in a favor and got two tickets to see it tomorrow night. I was going to go with him, but how about you take him instead?"

My eyes widen at the possibility. I've never seen Rent, but have always wanted to. Even when I lived a stone's throw away from New York I never got around to it. Always too scared someone would find out and use it as ammo against me.

"Has he ever seen it?" She shakes her head. "...No, no I can't steal your present," I say reluctantly. "It wouldn't be fair."

"Curly, if you don't take them, I'm going to hurt you. Lord knows you haven't got any better ideas hidden up that skinny butt of yours. And frankly that boy is so fond of you; he'll be disappointed if your present isn't good."

I like to think Kurt isn't that shallow. "He's not _that_ fond of me."

"Oh he is. I mean I'm not saying he wants to ... you know – with you-" She squirms awkwardly and I flush to the tips of my ears. "It – it's not like he crushes on every guy he's friends with. This is coming out wrong. I just mean you make him happy. You're a good friend to him."

She glares at me meaningfully, and it strikes me how distant she's been from Kurt lately. They used to walk up and down the halls together, heads close as they gossiped over outfits. Now I only seem to see them together in Glee club, and even then he sits next to and interacts with me more, even with her on his other side. Am I the cause of their distance in the last few months?

"It's not like I'll ever replace you," I say softly.

She sighs and throws the pen she's been flicking between her fingers down on the desk.

"Look, have you ever seen Kurt voluntarily touch anyone before?"

I'm taken aback by the question, but I think it over. "No ...? Maybe his dad and Carole and ..."

"You," she deadpans.

My eyes widen. How have I never noticed he doesn't touch people before? _Because he always has touched you_, the smug voice in the back of my head mutters.

I kind of want to slap the smirk off her face and prod her raised eyebrow back into position.

"Uh huh, just take the damn tickets."

I smile gratefully at her. "Thank you. No, seriously, thank you."

"Yeah yeah, you just make sure my boy has a good time, okay?"

The bell rings. She winks and strolls out of the classroom. "I'll text you the details tonight."

I walk out of the classroom in a daze. Truth be told I thought she'd give me a few ideas, not solve my problem for me. Promising myself I'll get Kurt to hang out with her more in the future, my walk has a spring to it as I head towards English. Sure, I have no clue what I'm getting Santana for Christmas, my sister and Mom will no doubt grin and bear their presents as usual, and my disorganization means Matt and Jade's presents will arrive at least a few days late, but for the first time in years, I'm actually looking forward to Christmas.

Whoosh. All I register is a large hand and a red cup before visibility disappears behind a layer of syrup and ice. It's like the unanticipated wave that smacks you in the face, when you're swimming in the sea – only more sticky than wet.

"Merry Christmas! That's what happens when you get my man suspended, Frodo!"

"You did _not_ just slushie my boyfriend, Azimio!" Santana's voice screeches out from down the corridor. The hall falls silent.

"Oh that's funny, cos' I believe I just did," Azimio taunts.

"Don't you walk away from me; I'm from Lima Heights Adjacent, asshole. I could string your balls up on a flag pole – Tina stay with Blaine-"

Her shouts grow quieter as she storms past me and after Azimio's retreating form. Well, it was fun while the peace lasted. Shaking my head out like a dog, I barely pay attention as a hand starts picking slush out of my freshly cut hair.

"Blaine, are you okay?" Tina's timid voice asks.

I wipe the remnants of syrup from my eyes. The slushie hit me and not Kurt. That's all that matters.

"Yeah, just a bit sticky."

* * *

><p>Mental note: Cars are far more complicated than I thought.<p>

I wipe grease from my forehead and discreetly swipe my hand across my brand new uniform to clean my hand. The 'Hummel's Tires and Lube' logo on the front pocket of the grey shirt is already blackened with grease. The irony being I've barely touched anything yet.

It's been two hours since my shift began this morning, and all I have to show for it is a spanner to the foot, and a tower of tires toppling over like I pulled the wrong block out in a game of Jenga. Currently Mr. Hummel ("It's Burt, kid!") has me sweeping up after a particularly muddy and snow clad car was brought in for repair. I can't blame him. Lord knows I shouldn't be working on a car right now. I've been flustered from the moment I arrived.

I wipe at my forehead a moment and steal a glance at my watch. Six more hours left. And the worst part is Mr. Hummel sent Kurt out on an errand this morning so I've yet to see him.

"Blaine."

I turn to Mr. Hummel, who's off to the side, swiping his hands over a filthy rag.

"You've been sweeping that spot for five minutes. I'm pretty sure it's as clean as it's gonna' get."

Shoot. I duck my head in embarrassment and mumble an apology. A firm hand rests on my shoulder as I start sweeping the mud closer to the garage door.

"You're doing fine, kid. I'm not expecting miracles on your first day." Mr. Hummel claps me hard on the back and my knees buckle slightly at the intensity. "Don't be so hard on yourself."

"Sorry," I say reflexively. Mr. H- Burt chuckles to himself and moves off to berate some of the longer term employees, who are having a sword fight with a wrench and a screwdriver.

Most of the time I find it difficult to see how Kurt came from a man like Burt. He's so ... stereotypically a guy, with his love of sports, cars and greasy food. Not to mention his subdued personality. In comparison to Kurt's theatrics, I mean. But then I see the subtle ways they are the same. Their eyes, the height, the way Burt is being quietly supportive and patient with me, despite the long list of first day screw ups. Exactly how Kurt is. Not to mention the way he knows I'm beating myself up, despite having my show face on. I guess perceptiveness is a Hummel thing.

Things pick up after that, and before long Burt has Finn looking after me as we see to a ten year old Cadillac. I'm lost on the other side of the garage looking for a can of oil when I feel a presence behind me.

"You're cold."

Kurt's leant against the surprisingly spotless wall near me, eyebrows raised and a mischievous smirk to the lips.

"Excuse me?"

He nods back where Finn is clanking around underneath the Cadillac. "The oil Finn sent you for. You're not near it yet."

Ah. I step to the right. He shakes his head vigorously. I step to the left again. He smirks. Okay, I'm getting closer then. His eyes follow me as I maneuver around, until I can no longer watch him, turning to look where I am.

"Getting warmer," he calls as I squeeze my way between two work benches. "Warmer. That's it. No – colder... yes, warmer." I chuckle to myself. This is ridiculous.

"Will you just tell me?"

Kurt flashes me a devilish grin. "This is way more fun. Hot. Hotter. No. Over a bit... you're steaming hot. BOILING!"

His yell makes me jump and I stub my toe on the can of oil. He applauds me from behind and I take a pained bow before I hobble past him with the can. His amused eye is on the back of my head as I go.

"Dude, you took forever!" Finn says when I set it down beside his legs and he rolls out from under the car. "Can you check the oil level and then fill it up? The engine's been off for over an hour so it should be cold enough."

"Uh sure."

Finn's already back under the car with a "Sup little bro," aimed at Kurt.

"I'm older than you, Finn," Kurt barks. There's no malice in it, just exasperated fondness.

I pull the rod that dips into the engine oil out and dip it back in gingerly.

"Psst!" Kurt's leant against the car alongside the Cadillac now, black skinny jean clad legs crossed neatly at the ankles. "You need to wipe the stick, and then put it back in to check the level. You won't be able to measure it otherwise."

Oh! My cheeks flame. I know that! That's one of the first things they teach you about engines in drivers ed. Or at least my teacher did. Why am I mucking up so much? I correct my mistake and wipe the stick on a rag, placing the rod back into the oil, only to remove it again. Barely an inch of oil covers the tip. So that's a yes to needing oil.

"Relax," Kurt says, head tipped to the side in sympathy.

Easier said than done, I think. Once finished with the can, Kurt follows me back to where I found it.

"So, you're still not going to tell me where we're going tonight?" Kurt's tone is conversational, but I detect the edge to the question.

"No, it's a surprise."

"Come on!" he whines and stomps his foot for good measure. "I hate surprises and you want to tell me anyway. You can put us both out of our misery."

"No, it's your Christmas present." I'm not backing down on this, and he seems to realize because he bites the inside of his cheeks and dips his head to the side in irritable defeat.

"Can you at least tell me what the dress code is?"

"Smart casual."

"... And that's nothing to go on." Kurt sighs. "Fine, be impossible. But I'm not helping you anymore. Consider this your punishment."

As if by design, Burt yells from the office. "Kurt! If you're going to hang around, come in here and make yourself useful. I've got a mountain of paperwork with your name on it."

Kurt rolls his eyes and checks his cuticles stubbornly like his father hasn't spoken. "So what time are we leaving?"

"6pm sharp," I say, as we return to the Cadillac.

"Don't make me drag you, kid," Burt warns.

Kurt hollers back. "Fine, but only because I want to, not because I've got orders."

"Keep telling yourself that," I mutter, and earn myself a swat to the head as Kurt passes.

Tonight is going to be amazing.

* * *

><p>It's difficult to act casual when you feel like a rabbit is hopping around your stomach. I'd hoped that dad would be working late when I returned from my first day at the garage to get ready for my date with Kurt. As it happens luck is not on my side. So I stay upstairs for as long as possible before descending to the living room, so as not to rouse suspicion.<p>

"Are you sure you're not having dinner today, Blaine?" Mom says when I settle on the couch beside Saffron, whose head is slumped against the arm rest.

"I've gotta' leave in ten minutes, but thanks," I say regretfully. It's lasagne night. I love Mom's lasagne.

"What is it you're seeing again?" she asks.

"Rent."

Dad's head appears over the top of his newspaper. "Isn't that the one about gay people?"

Damn it. I should have lied and said it was something else. "Yeah. It's Kurt's Christmas present."

Dad folds his newspaper carefully and drops it down on the coffee table. His eyes are narrowed in suspicion. "I thought you were going with the girl with the car name?"

"Mercedes." I roll my eyes. "And I told you, she got the tickets for her and Kurt initially but she can't go now."

Dad nods his understanding, eyes flitting towards the other end of the couch. Saffron looks like she's dozing. "Why don't you take your sister along too?"

Saffron's eyes open wide at that and we both stare at him incredulously.

"I only have two tickets," I remind him.

Dad waves me off. "These theatres always have last minute tickets going on the night. You'd just have to ask the ticket office."

"Dad I don't _want_ to go," Saffron says guardedly.

"Of course you do," Dad speaks over her easily. "You two don't spend any time together anymore. It'll be fun for you. Besides you know Kurt."

I shake my head at him incredulously. What the hell is he doing? I've been looking forward to this all day, and now he wants my sister to come?

"Honey, stop interfering," Mom says from the kitchen door. She's been watching the entire exchange with suspiciously bright eyes I notice. "Even if he could get her a ticket, it wouldn't be next to Kurt and Blaine. She'd be by herself."

"You're right," Dad says thoughtfully. "Well, I'm sure Kurt would be fine with sitting on his own."

"WHAT?" Saffron, Mom and I exclaim at the same time.

"It's his Christmas present," I splutter. I can't leave him to sit on his own. What is he...?

"It's not like it's a date," Dad says and gives me a pointed stare.

It takes all of my will power to hold in the growl of frustration. I have to bite the inside of my cheeks hard.

"Well duh, of course he it isn't. Kurt has a boyfriend." Stunned silence follows Saffron's admission. "What?" she says and crosses her arms and legs tightly, seemingly bored with the conversation. "I saw him in the park the other day, sucking face with some bleach blonde boy with a giant mouth."

My own mouth is wide open. What is she talking about? What bleach blonde guy with a giant mout- wait, Sam? When the hell has she seen Kurt with Sam? Her eyes shift to me and widen meaningfully for a split second.

Oh! Hopefully my epiphany doesn't show in my eyes, as a warm bubble of affection bursts for her. She knows it's a date and is covering for me.

"Yeah, he's been with Sam for about a month now," I lie smoothly, checking my watch. "Look, I'm sorry but I have to go. Saff, I'll take you to see The Lion the Witch and the Wardrobe when it's playing in January. I promise."

She grins at me and winks as I leave the room. "I'm holding you to that," I hear just as I slam the front door shut. Well, that was narrow escape. Keeping my pace steady in case Dad watches from the window, I walk out of our front gate and over to the Hummel's driveway. First stop, Kurt's front door, second stop, Columbus.

* * *

><p>Or not...<p>

"No, no, no, no not now!" I exclaim. The scrape of metal is harsh in our ears as my now flat wheel flaps across the road. Hastily I pull to the side as close to the edge of the road as I can maneuver with a flattire, and kill the engine. The stinging stench of burning rubber hits my nostrils. I choke on it and smack my head down against the steering wheel. This isn't happening. Not now.

We're roughly 45 minutes from Columbus. And this happens. Fan-bloody-tastic.

"Relax," Kurt says from the passenger seat. "It's just a flat. If it was anything else I would insult this hunk of junk."

"Hey, she can't help being old," I defend, and lift my face off the wheel to climb out and assess the damage. We shine the lights from our cells on maximum at the still smoking rubber and cringe at the sight. Kurt coughs and waves his hand in front of his face. Yup, there's no way we can move with that. Not without causing further damage to the car.

"I'm sorry; we're going to be late," I grumble.

"Oh please, I've been changing tires since I was fourteen. I could do it with my eyes closed. We'll be moving in no time."

Kurt kisses me on the cheek and moves off to the back of my car, his lean figure illuminated by his phone as it swings back and forth in the night. The clunk of the boot opening is loud in the silent evening, and I exhale heavily. Any other day I could have handled this.

"Uh, Blaine," Kurt calls. "Where's your spare?"

"In the boot," I say.

"No it's not."

"What?" I join him and feel around in the boot. I left it at the back the day before we moved to Ohio. My hand grabs at nothing but air. No, no that can't be right. I had it there... shoot when did I last see it? Oh yeah, last week when I got the blanket out to keep saffron warmer in the mornings. I hold the phone closer to the back in the hope my eyes and hands are deceiving me. Nothing is there.

"It- it was right here." My hands claw at my short curls. "I haven't had a flat since I moved here."

"I can't change an invisible tire," Kurt mutters.

"Thank you, Sherlock," I snip.

Kurt blinks in surprise and crosses his arms over his chest. "Well excuse me, dwarf number seven."

"Wha-"

"Grumpy," he elaborates darkly. "You seemed too busy gulping air to make any helpful comments. I was just filling the silence."

I roll my eyes. "Well it couldn't have vanished into thin ..." I freeze up as the realization dawns on me. "... air."

Mom's car had a flat on Monday, which was convenient because she wasn't there to see the showdown between me, Kurt and Santana. She didn't call the breakdown services though, she called my dad.

"Damn it!" I punch at the air and slam my elbows on the back of my car, to bury my head in my arms.

"Hey, calm down. I'll call my dad. He owns a tire shop, remember?" Kurt sounds alarmed as his hand soothes up my back.

I flinch it off and turn to walk away from the car. This isn't happening. He doesn't even know I'm seeing a boy behind his back, and he still manages to ruin my plans. This was meant to be our night, our first date. It was supposed to be fun and sweet, and maybe I'd get a thank you kiss out of it, and see his smile, knowing I was the one who put it there. But no, now we're stuck halfway to Columbus in the middle of nowhere, with two cell phones for light and nothing to do but wait.

"Fuck you, Dad!" I yell out to the ominous white fields that surround us for miles.

Kurt gawps at me.

"He took my tire. He took it and attached it to Mom's car. He took my spare tire and didn't replace it or even tell me!"

I growl and slam the boot shut. Kicking the concrete at my feet does little to reign in my temper, but I do it anyway. "Jesus, he lives next door to a guy who owns a tire shop! How hard would it have been to get one? I even work there now! What the hell?"

Kurt's still staring at me curiously, and I feel itchy all over at his scrutiny.

"What?" I ask, rubbing my eyes tiredly. I just want this day to end now.

"You just swore."

"Fuck, well aren't your powers of deduction on fire." Oh my god, stop swearing at him! He didn't steal the tire. "Sorry," I backtrack hastily. "It's just, my dad's an asshole."

I pull him towards me by his coat and wrap my arm around his waist, resting my head on his shoulder. "Sorry."

Kurt chuckles. "It's fine." His voice has a deeper quality to it to what I'm used to. It's huskier.

"No, no I'm sorry, I'm not mad at you. I had all this planned out and now we're not going to make it. Mercedes is going to kill me... how strong is she?" I pull back and search his eyes for the truth. "On a scale of one to ten: one being an air slap, and ten being put in a grave, how screwed am I with her? Shit I'm screwed. I promised her I'd-"

I can't remember what I promised because a better one is currently pressed against my lips. I squawk in surprise, but catch on quickly, kissing him back, taking his bottom lip into my mouth and rolling it between my teeth gently. He moans and presses himself closer. I grip his waist tighter, nails digging in under his coat. I'll never get enough of this with him.

"Sorry," Kurt gasps and presses another kiss to my lips. "I just I-" Our kiss deepens again, cutting him off. He doesn't complain. Instead he worms his tongue into my eager mouth and glides it across mine. Finally he splutters, "I've never heard you swear before."

That catches my attention. Mouths barely centimeters apart, I lift my hands up to his cheeks, processing his words. "I don't normally."

Kurt blushes and ducks his head to bury his face in my neck. "Sorry."

I stroke the back of his head in bewilderment, but unable to keep the adoring grin off my face. Not that he can see it down by my collarbone, where his mouth currently ghosts across the sensitive skin. I shiver right down to my toes.

"It was kind of hot," Kurt admits. He looks up sheepishly, and his eyes flicker in the light from our cell phones, his blown pupils sparkling. My heart thuds impatiently in my throat because _seriously_? We're in the middle of nowhere with no spare tire, and he's turned on?

Why am I questioning this?

"What," I say with an innocent eyebrow raised, "me saying... fuck?"

He's on me again and I'm slammed up against the side of my car, narrowly avoiding the open passenger door. His kisses are fierce. I hiss as the freezing metal seeps through my coat, a pleasurable contrast to the warm press of his body against mine. This is becoming a strangely regular occurrence. I can honestly say I didn't figure Kurt to be so forceful when I met him. Not that I mind. It makes me feel wanted. Like my chest is barely containing a hundred butterflies.

"Yes, you asshole," he growls, and it goes straight to my groin because huh, I can sort of see his point about the swearing.

Far too soon he pulls back completely and licks his lips, as if to savor it. God, that's hot. I blink the haze from my eyes and say the first thing that pops into my head.

"Phone."

"What?"

"Call. We should call somebody."

"Right, yeah. Call." Kurt clears his throat and puts a respectable distance between us. "My dad."

That seems to throw an ice cold slushie at his libido. We turn our attention to our cell phones, hyper aware of one another's warm presence.

"Damn, no signal," Kurt mutters.

"Me neither." I step away from him, and then again. And one more time, but no bars of signal appear on the interface. Kurt's on the other side of the car by now. "Anything?"

"No," he calls. "You'll be pleased to know the flash light app is eating away at my battery though. I better turn it off in case the phone dies."

Me too. I turn my app off and walk further away from the car, hyper aware that my only light source is the soft glow of my phone interface. The snow covered hills beside us are eerily visible in the winter evening and I shudder. There are no street lamps up and down this road for miles. I take a few more steps up the road, eyes never leaving the signal bar on the cell. Nothing. Not even a momentary change.

Crunch.

I pause and scan the road ahead of me. That came from in front of me, right? With a shaky breath I strain my ears for more sound, frozen to the spot, eyes wide and staring. Maybe I imagined it.

Snap.

My head whips to the side. Okay I didn't imagine that. I stumble backwards a few steps and a rustling from one of the hedgerows raises the tiny hairs on the back of my neck.

"Kurt," I whisper.

Silence.

I'm imagining things. It's dark, you're stranded, you have no way of contacting people, and you're just making things up in your head. If we were attacked here we could never reach help in time. Oh well done, that was _so_ comforting. Idiot.

Something touches my arm and I yell out in surprise.

"What?" Kurt's hand withdraws and both of his lift up in surrender.

I let out a cough of relief. It's just Kurt. He touched my arm. That's all. Breathe, breathe in, and breathe out. That's how you breathe. Well done. I hold my hand to my chest to calm my racing heart and swat at his shoulder feebly. "You scared me."

"Noted," Kurt says guardedly. "Do you mind not freaking me out too?"

I laugh shakily, for lack of anything better to do. "Sorry. Did you find any bars?"

"No, just a dead bird," he deadpans.

"Oh my god, I hit a _bird_?"

Kurt laughs out loud. Even his eyes crinkle. "No, no honey, it looks like it happened a few days ago judging by its remains."

Phew! I rub at the back of my head and he grabs my hand, pulling me back towards the car.

"Come on scaredy cat, let's get warm."

I'm too freaked out to even dispute the name.

Five minutes later we're sat in the front seats, with the heat on full blast, and the blanket from the backseat wrapped around the pair of us. It takes us all of thirty seconds to agree that walking back towards the nearest settlement in the dark is bordering on stupid. Kurt is searching through my iPod.

"You genuinely have both Spice Girls albums?"

"I had a crush on Baby Spice as a kid," I admit with a blush.

"My how your crushes have changed over the years," Kurt quips.

I purse my lips and my head flops back against the head rest, dejectedly.

"Stop sulking."

"I'm not," I retort petulantly.

"Look the way I see this, we can let this situation ruin our date, or we can make the most of it and still have a good time." Kurt dips his head to look me in the eyes, and I roll mine stubbornly. Fine, I may as well humor him. This was supposed to be special after all.

"What did you have in mind?"

"Well first of all we're going to put on some romantic music." I recognize the first song in my Romantic playlist. A little bit of Lionel Richie is never a bad shout.

"Then we're going to snack on the candy I brought with me, just in case, and we're going to look out at the stars together."

Pursing my lips sceptically, I peer out of the front windscreen. "It's cloudy."

"Close your eyes, you'll see them."

I look over at him curiously. He's leant back against the headrest with his eyes closed, a soft smile on his face, and I take the opportunity to check out his profile, his long milky neck and defined jaw. The way his long eyelashes flutter against his cheek. The gentle rise and fall of his chest is evident by the movement of his scarf. Beautiful.

"Stop staring."

I startle a blink. "I'm not?"

He peaks at me through his long lashes. "I could feel it. Close your eyes and imagine the stars behind the clouds."

I do as I'm told. And I try to imagine them. The truth is that I can only ever recognize one constellation, and that's Orion's Belt. And the only reason I know that one is thanks to Men in Black. What other ones are there?

"I can hear you thinking. Stop it."

How the hell does he do that?

"And they say I'm the uptight one." Kurt sighs and leans his head against my shoulder. "Come on. Right up there is Orion's Belt, and then to the side you'll see the Big Dipper. The North star shines brighter than any other, more blinding than each of the planets in the Milky Way combined."

I can't help smiling at the image he conjures. I'm sure it's filled with inaccuracies, and I have no clue which star goes where, but it's nice to have his soft voice gently describing the scene in my ear. Pressing a delicate kiss to his temple my arms sneaks around his shoulders. Kurt shuffles closer and links his fingers with mine over his shoulder with a sigh of contentment. The song has changed to Hungry Eyes from the Dirty Dancing soundtrack.

"Have you stopped being scared of the dark, yet?" Kurt asks teasingly an indeterminable amount of time later.

"I'm not scared."

"So if I was to lean over and attempt to open the door, I could?"

"Well no, I locked them," I admit sheepishly.

Kurt presses a kiss to my jaw. "To what, keep out the lions and tigers and bears?"

"Oh my!"

"Oh god!" Kurt groans. "Why do I always fall for the dorks?"

"Is that a trick question?"

Kurt doesn't answer and nuzzles into my neck instead, so I tighten my arm around his shoulder and cuddle into him. I have to admit, this is nice. We couldn't have done this in the theatre, not without it looking like we are a couple. We're silent for a long time. The only sounds the rustle of the packet of skittles he brought with him; and the giggles that erupt from us as we attempt to catch them in our mouths.

It's me who first notices the light in the corner of my eye. From the direction we came from the growl of an engine can be heard getting louder and louder, travelling closer and closer. The beam of light snaking over the hedgerows it passes.

"Car!" I holler. We both jump into action. It takes me three attempts at opening the door, for me to remember I locked them, and I jam my finger into the automatic lock. Kurt's out and on my side of the car before I can scramble from my seat. We wave in vain though for the driver is clearly in too bigger rush to stop for two stranded teenage boys.

In fact the very same thing happens three times, over the course of the next hour.

"I guess the snow's keeping everyone away huh?" Kurt says conversationally. We're thirty five minutes in to watching Beauty and the Beast on my iPod.

I hum in response, because what else can I say to that?

"What was my surprise?"

I lift my head from its resting place on his shoulder. "I'm sorry we're missing it." Kurt gives me a stern look and so my head dips down in resignation. "Do you want to know?"

Kurt chews his slightly swollen bottom lip thoughtfully. "I guess there's no point in teasing myself with the knowledge. Ignorance is bliss."

My head finds his shoulder again, and I formulate a plan to make sure his surprise does happen; maybe not tonight, but sometime soon.

Kurt checks his phone again to see if by some miracle signal has found us, before huffing dejectedly and settling it back down on the dash. "You know there is one good thing that has come out of this," Kurt says silkily.

Kurt cups both of my cheeks in his palms. "I get to do this," he kisses me sweetly, "over and over. And no one's here to yell at us, or call us names, or ..."

_Out me_, I finish silently. If he's fazed by the reminder of the secretive nature of our relationship he doesn't show it, and swings his leg over mine to settle onto my lap. He doesn't kiss me though. Just rests his forehead against mine and rubs our noses together.

"Maybe we can find a place," I whisper. "Somewhere we can just be us. No pressure, no responsibility. Just us." I smile wistfully at the thought.

Kurt snuggles against me. "That sounds good."

I'm not sure how much time passes, but the calming pressure of his body is nice, and I have no desire to move him. Not even when the next car swoops around the corner, unsteady in the snow.

"Car!" This time it's Kurt.

I can see it too, but after the last few attempts, I'm not optimistic about our chances. Kurt makes to open the door but I catch his wrist in my right hand.

"Don't bother," I say. "They won't stop."

Kurt's hand twitches, like he's seriously considering leaving the vehicle anyway. Instead he settles his palms flat against my shoulders. "You're right."

The car's almost upon us now, and we wait patiently for the headlights to pass and disappear like they never existed. Except it does the opposite. The sleek silver Mercedes, identifiable in the scarce light, has slowed to a crawl. Kurt's hand grips at my arm to alert me.

"I know."

I also know the two faces that stare in through the driver window at us questioningly. Their white dress shirts are uncharacteristically loosened where their ties normally are, blazers discarded. There's no mistaking them though.

"Well, if it isn't the terrible spies."

* * *

><p><strong>Yay a cliffhanger. Which Warblers do you think it is? Sorry if Blaine swearing seemed out of character, but I was interested to see what Kurt would do ;) Plus he isn't perfect and he does hang out with Santana Lopez...<strong>

**It's the Queens Jubilee weekend so hopefully I'll get some writing done during my 4 days off work, which will make the next update sooner.**

**I hope you liked!**


	17. Christmas Eve

**A/N: I'm a terrible author. I'm so sorry it's been three months. I had a major mishap involving my old laptop dying on me quite literally, and it took me two weeks to access it long enough to salvage some of the chapter I wrote (which was ready to post pretty much grrr). So this has been mostly rewritten in between 12 hour work days. I've got a brand new laptop now which works very well, and I've already got half of chapter eighteen written out, so fingers crossed I don't let you guys down again.**

**Thanks so much to everyone who has favorited, followed, alerted and reviewed. You're awesome and I don't deserve you. I appreciate you for your patience. And if you've given up on me, I understand. Sorry :(**

**This chapter is full of plot development but I promise you the next one has more fluff to go with the development - And I will try my damnedest to get the chapter out asap! Thanks to Till . the . tears . stop . falling for looking it over for me. **

**Disclaimer: Don't own Glee. I don't think I could handle that responsibility. **

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><p><strong>Chapter Seventeen - Christmas Eve<strong>

"_Well, if it isn't the terrible spies."_

Kurt's tight grip on my shoulder is painful under the two Warblers scrutiny, and he shifts in my lap so he's leant as far from me as the steering wheel will allow. His complexion has turned paler than I've ever seen it.

"Oh ... hi?" I say meekly.

What are the odds of the one car that stops to help you containing people you know?

I feel like my mother just caught my hand in the cookie jar. Except this is worse, because at least I know she can keep a secret. Squirming under Nick and Wes' surprised stares I let out a breath I didn't know I'd been holding. The gulps of air do little to calm my frantic thoughts. No, this is much worse. Can we even trust them? How do we know they won't use this – whatever this looks like – against us at Regional's? If there's anything I've learnt over the years, it's that anything incriminating can be used against you.

Did I just use the word 'incriminating' to describe mine and Kurt's relationship?

I can feel Kurt's wary gaze on me, and I shift uncomfortably as Nick and Wes peer in at us with curious expectance.

"You guys broken down?" Nick asks, breaking the awkward silence. His lips turn up in an amused smile, but I'm not sure what he's finding humor in.

I catch Kurt's eye fleetingly, but he just stares back at me helplessly. The way I see it we have a few options, we can act like we were just about to swap seats, Kurt was trying to find something for me and happened to be in my lap when they drove by, explain that we were play fighting to pass the time. Or we can never mention it and hope they don't comment.

_Or, you could tell them the truth_, a sneaky voice from the back of my head says, as Kurt shifts back to the passenger seat and folds his hands nonchalantly in his lap.

"My tire burst, and it turns out my spare never got replaced," I explain with a clear of the throat.

Wes grimaces in sympathy. "You guys must be freezing; do you want a lift back to Lima? We're on our way to Findlay, so it's on the way."

Kurt checks the time on his phone and smiles gratefully. "Please! I can call my dad and explain what happened on the way."

I bite my lip in concern, not fond of the idea of leaving my car unattended in this weather. What if someone loses control of their vehicle and damages her?

"The car will survive for one night," Kurt whispers in my ear, and I have to ignore the gooseflesh sprouting down my spine, tickly and shiver inducing. He's probably right. I step out of the car and lock it once Kurt's door is closed.

"Why are you guys going to Findlay?" Kurt asks, once my car has disappeared from view. Good thinking, steer them away from any questioning about us.

"Christmas," Nick answers, turning around in his seat. "Wes is spending it with my family, seeing as his parents decided they'd rather be in Paris for the holidays."

"You're not going with them?" Kurt says.

"Nah." Wes slows the vehicle slightly to avoid some black ice. "If they wanted me there they would have mentioned it before yesterday."

Neither of us knows how to respond to that so we keep quiet and watch our phones for bars of signal. Eventually Kurt lets out a bark of triumph and dials his dad's number. "Where did we break down?" he asks after a few minutes of explanation.

"Erm-"

"You were 23 miles passed Bellefontaine, nearing Marysville," Wes replies smoothly.

Damn, we really were in the middle of nowhere. I close my eyes, unwilling to converse with the two Warblers anymore than I have to. Conversation leads to questions, and answers I'm not comfortable giving right now. So I relax back against the headrest, and try to doze, lulled by Kurt's smooth voice, the low banter in the front and the hand that's absently made its way to my knee, squeezing in a comforting gesture. I peek only when Kurt says his goodbyes and hangs up.

"He'll take you during your shift to pick up your car tomorrow," he says. "With a tire," he adds.

"Right, I have work tomorrow morning." In all the stress of tonight I'd forgotten that. What a perfect impression for my second day; the idiot who wasn't prepared when his tire needed a change.

Kurt side eyes me, reading my mind. "Stop it. Dad doesn't mind, and the way he sees it, he'll be making sure you know how to change tires for potential customers."

"I know how to do that!" I exclaim. "I just ... didn't have one on hand."

"Oh, so that's why I was going to do it," Kurt teases.

"Like you gave me a choice?"

"Like you offered?"

Chuckles from the front interrupt our bickering.

"Sorry," Nick grins, not looking it at all, "but you guys just scream 'old married couple'. How long have you been together now?"

"We're not!" I say quickly. Too quickly.

Kurt purses his lips and nods in reluctant agreement. "We're not."

"Uh huh, okay," Nick says ironically.

Wes jabs him in the arm with a wary look back at us. "Don't you remember that Latina girl who had her tongue down Blaine's throat back at Dalton?"

"Oh," Nick looks between us and Wes sheepishly. "Yeah, I forgot about that. Sorry guys, I just assumed."

Kurt waves him off nonchalantly. "We're uh, just a little too comfortable with one another I guess. Right, Blaine?"

I don't like the clipped and closed tone, or at least, not when it's aimed at me. Still, I nod vigorously and shoot Kurt an apologetic grimace. He's turned away to look out the window though, and my stomach swirls in guilt.

We're a couple of miles outside of Lima before the cold silence from him and the inane chatter from Wes and Nick gets to be too much, and I send Kurt a text message.

To Kurt:

_I'm sorry. I just don't know if we can trust them. Are you mad?_

I can see from the corner of my eye that he receives it, watch his fingers reach towards and back from the screen indecisively, like he can't decide whether to ignore me or answer. After a tense wait my phone vibrates to alert me of a message, and I open it gingerly.

To Blaine:

_No, I'm not mad. Just... frustrated?_

To Kurt:

_I'll make it up to you. Promise._

Kurt's smile is half-hearted, as he leans forward to direct Wes towards our street. And it's a relief when he pulls up between our houses.

Kurt and I thank them at least 20 times before we're both out of the car. I make to step away, but Nick's hand clasps at my arm through the passenger window. He looks around at Wes and Kurt and pulls me forward.

"Listen, while we've got you here, we've been meaning to talk to you," he says in a low voice.

I raise an eyebrow at him, and crouch down by his door warily. "Okay?"

"To put it bluntly, you're talented," Nick says, and I duck my head at the comment, cheeks coloring. "I've been lead soloist for the Warblers all year now, and I've never managed to get the crowd going like you did."

I gape at him in confusion. Are we talking about the same performance? Because I may have felt sick at the prospect of performing that day, but I could still appreciate how good they were. How good Nick is. I don't say any of this; too busy trying to work out where this conversation is headed.

"Right...?" I answer eventually.

"I know this is really cheeky of us, but uh, did we mention that my dad is on the school board at Dalton?"

Nodding, I realize Wes is delaying a smiling Kurt on purpose on the other side of the car.

"Well, they'll do just about anything right now to get the Warblers ranking higher in the show choir world," Nick says hurriedly. "We haven't gotten past Regional's in five years and it's embarrassing for the institution. And well, we got to talking – the Warblers council I mean– and we think you'd be the perfect lead soloist to get us back up there."

My eyes are glued to his face, and I must be openly gawping at him, but I can't seem to wrap my head around what he's trying to tell me. They want me to _what_? "I don't even go to your school." I blink stupidly at him.

Nick rolls his eyes in amusement, "That's what transfers are for."

I release a nervous laugh and pat my curls down. "Is this a joke?" I ask, because, seriously how could this not be?

Nick shakes his head solemnly. "We don't play games like that at Dalton, Blaine."

"I uh, I think you're talking to the wrong guy here," I say quietly. "I'm not – I... no I'm not good. I was just filling in for Sam at Sectionals. My family just moved here. We can't afford a private school like Dalton. I-"

"I already talked to my dad," Nick says, waving my spluttered explanation aside. "The board will offer you a full scholarship if you transfer and join the Warblers. It'll even cover boarding costs."

This has got to be some sort of trick. They wouldn't go to this sort of trouble for a lead soloist. Would they? I shake my head at him in disbelief, and Nick sighs and sneaks a wary glance at Kurt, who appears to have noticed something is off on my side of the car.

"Look, here's my number." He hands me a business card, and I fumble to grasp it. "Think it over?"

I nod carefully, already planning to rip it up after they've gone. Or at least shove it to the bottom of an old bag. Nick smiles like I've already said yes (which I won't), and lets me hop back up to my feet. He doesn't let go of my wrist though.

"Also, little word of advice," he begins, gestures for me to lean closer.

Kurt keeps looking to me with suspicious eyes, and I offer him a hopefully neutral smile in return.

"I don't know if you guys are together or too stubborn or what, but you might want to tone it down," Nick whispers.

I blanch at his words. My heart thuds in my chest, panicked.

"Body language," Nick elaborates. "Wes didn't notice, so don't worry. But I can tell. One thing I learnt from having two sisters is observation. And you guys are clearly into each other. I'm telling you because, if I noticed after an hour, your friends will soon, if they haven't already."

He releases my wrist, and I step back dumbly.

"Think about it." Nick nods at me, and Wes offers a brief wave, before they're gone, leaving a chill in me that has nothing to do with the weather.

"You okay?" Kurt asks.

I nod, and slip the business card (seriously, he has a business card?) into my back pocket, determined to never tell Kurt about Nick's proposition. It doesn't matter. I'm not going. Even if that school does have a zero tolerance bullying policy. In fact if anything I'll call him up and demand they give a scholarship to Kurt.

Kurt's brow is furrowed, and he doesn't seem convinced. He doesn't push though. "I had a great time tonight, despite the breakdown and ... well, you know."

"I'm sorry," I blurt. Shame or perhaps guilt lays a heavy hand on my gut. "I couldn't tell them," I whisper, desperate for him to understand. "It could get back to my dad, I-"

"Hey no, come with me." Kurt grabs my arm and pulls me down his driveway.

I expect him to drag me into the house, but he veers down the path that leads to the side gate instead, and pulls me through, shutting it quietly behind us. We're enveloped in darkness. This side of the house has no windows on the ground floor to pool us in light, and the wooden fence that separates our two houses is high. The path is narrow, and even with Kurt on one side, and me on the other, we're pressed close.

"What are we-?" I begin.

He cuts me off what with a chaste kiss.

"Listen to me," he says. "I knew you wouldn't tell them. I'm sorry I reacted like that. There's still a part of me that wants you to relent, but I know that's not going to happen for a while. I'm sorry we were caught like that. Are you okay?"

I shake my head at him in disbelief. How can he stand there after I dismissed our relationship like that, and ask me if _I'm_ okay?

"I don't want you to think I'm ashamed of you." I worry my lip between my teeth. I'm glad it's dark, because I can't see if he looks upset, or worse, disappointed. "I'm not ashamed."

Kurt's hand wipes at his nose in the dark. "I know," he whispers. "I said yes, didn't I? I know what I was agreeing to when I gave in last week. And no I'm not happy about having to hide how I feel about you, when all I want is to rub it in people's faces but... I guess I care more about you, than I do about letting the world know it." He sounds astounded by his own words, like they're an epiphany to Kurt himself.

I cup his cheek and graze my thumb over the apple of his cheek. "I'm sorry I ruined our date." Kurt mutters something about me not ruining it but I plough on. "This is only temporary. Maybe I'll wake up tomorrow and my dad will say 'you know what? This is stupid, tell the world you're gay and I'll back you up.' Until then though..."

Kurt looks down at his feet, and sniffs slightly. "Can't?" he queries, and I can just make out his eyes in the darkness glistening at me.

"Won't," I admit for the first time.

Kurt's silent, surprised by my admission; my acknowledgment that his original argument was right all along.

"You deserve so much better," I say in a rush, because if I don't get this out I never will, "but you have to understand. My dad was there first."

And I know he does understand that, because he loves his dad too. The one person in the world Kurt would do anything for is Burt Hummel.

His understanding is expressed by his mouth sliding against mine, clumsy in the darkness. My arms wrap around his waist. His drape across my shoulders, lost in the smooth press of lips together. When we break apart it may have been three seconds or thirty. Who cares? When his forehead's against mine and his cool breath ghosts across my cheek, I certainly don't.

"Can't end a real first date without a kiss," Kurt whispers, my heart soars, and I feel not for the first time, that I really don't deserve him.

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><p>Christmas Eve is such a blur that I don't see my dad until the late evening. Although that's partially because I made a conscious effort to leave the house for work a half hour before my family has awoken. Not to avoid anyone, but because I don't have a car. Part of me feels a little stupid for not knocking on the Hummel's door and inquiring whether Burt would drop me in, but after weighing my options, I realized I felt more embarrassed at the prospect of asking, than I did walking.<p>

So my day consists of Burt scolding me for not waiting for a lift; _"I thought Kurt woulda' told ya' to wait, kid!"_ then driving me out to where my car is stranded (thankfully in one piece), and Burt supervising me as I change my tire.

It occurs to me that I don't know if Burt knows about Kurt and I, and the thought makes me cringe. What would he think of me if he did know? Would he be as nice to me as he is now? Would he disapprove of us having secret kisses down the side alley of his home at night?

Eventually the tire is on, we're back at the garage, and I've finished my work just in time to hop in my car, Kurt in the passenger seat, having just come back from the Christmas rush at the mall and we drive out to King's Island for my first show's final rehearsal.

It turns out my up chuck reflex is more sensitive without the entire glee club around to distract me with their drama. Or perhaps this has more to do with Kendra, my idiot duet partner being, well – an idiot. The rehearsal is a disaster. I could see Kurt watching from a few rows back in horrified fascination as she sung my lines as well as her own, kicked me in the knee when I was supposed to pull her towards me, and yelled out, "I can't work like this!" when the one time she didn't sing my line, I forget to open my mouth, too confused by her sudden changes in choreography. No wonder the director is balding, if he has to put up with this all the time.

By the time Kurt finds me out back, Kendra is nowhere to be seen and I'm throwing up in the 'talent' toilet, wracked with nerves.

"Hey, it's not that bad," Kurt soothes, but I detect the amused inflection in his voice.

"You are so much easier to work with," I choke out when the nausea has passed, and I'm curled up on the floor in the fetal position.

"You're a brave man, Blaine Anderson." He crouches beside me gingerly and pulls me to him, resting his lips in my hair. His shoulders are shaking with child-like amusement, and I whack his arm petulantly, although I'm too worked up to feel any real annoyance.

"I think I need to apologize to Rachel," Kurt muses as his chuckles die down. "Turns out she's not the Wicked Diva of the Mid-West after all."

"No, that vacancy's definitely been filled."

Miraculously the actual performance isn't a disaster, save for the one time Kendra steps on my toe. Plus the fact she was mouthing along to my part the entire time, eyes boring into mine with such unabashed condescension, that it takes me half the performance to realize she thinks I need reminding of the lyrics. Like she's decided _I'm_ the idiot in this duo. By the time we've taken our bows for the amused audience, I'm so annoyed by her that I don't even deign to respond when she pulls me aside and says;

"Good job, Ben. Now if you can at least keep it up to that standard for the rest of our time together, and don't show me up, that'd be awesome. Have a nice Christmas and I'll see you on Boxing Day."

It makes for some interesting anecdotes to tell the glee club, once Kurt and I make it to Mr Shue's house. Although I'm still not entirely sure what we're doing there. Kurt said something about Mr Shue and his lack of friends and family, and the words 'ex wife', 'evil' and 'Terri'...

Food has been set out on his dining table by the time we arrive, most of it is gone thanks to Puck and Finn. There's the odd thing to pick at though, and Santana sits on my lap and loops her arms around my neck in a show of 'togetherness', as I nibble on my food. Kurt's pushing his around his plate and if I know Santana, she's well aware he's sneaking glares at her every few minutes, and is making a bigger show of affection towards me to further aggravate him.

By the time Kurt and I have shared out presents, said our goodbyes and driven back to our street (stopping a few blocks over for an early Christmas present wrapped in wandering tongues, sharp breaths of air and happy giggles), I've forgotten all about the fact I'm not exactly on speaking terms with my dad right now, and stroll indoors, five minutes before curfew, humming White Christmas to myself.

"It's about time," Mom says when I flop down on the sofa beside her and rest my head in her lap. "We thought we were going to have to see in Christmas Day without you."

"When have I ever missed curfew?" I mumble sleepily into the wool of her sweater.

"Sadie Hawkings Dance," Dad answers. Right. Of course he'd bring _that_ up.

I allow Mom's hand brushing through my hair to lull me, anticipating the arrival of midnight. We've had this silly tradition for years, where we all stay up and wait for Christmas Eve to turn into Christmas Day. At first Mom and Dad started it as a way to appease Saffron and I, because we wanted to stay up as late as possible and wait for Santa. Now that we're older and know the truth, we probably ought to have stopped doing it. Christmas traditions die hard though, and I'm thankful we kept this one.

Angling my head so I can see the living room and stairs, I take in the Christmas tree covered by our usual clutter of ornaments and twinkly lights. Mom gave up on color coordinating the decoration years ago. Every year we each pick a new bauble, bell, or ornament to add to our collection. It's the only thing in the house that is exactly the same as it was back in Jersey.

Don't get me wrong, Mom's worked hard to unpack everything in time for Christmas, and make our first holiday in the new house as normal as possible, but even the tinsel that's snaked up the stair banister, and draped over the familiar photos and mirrors on the walls, doesn't erase the fact that every item in this room is in a different spot to how it was before we moved. The layout of the house is too different.

This is the first time I've looked around our new house and genuinely felt the rush of tingly happiness that I associate with home.

"How was Kings Island?" Saffron mumbles sleepily into the soft fabric of the armchair to the left of the sofa Mom and I are settled on. Dad's in the armchair opposite hers.

"No dead bodies tonight, so not too bad," I joke.

"So that Kayla girl wasn't too much trouble?" Mom asks.

"Kendra," I correct. "And she somehow refrained from being too idiotic."

"Ten bucks says she screws up the day we come and see you," Saffron says and half opens a lidded eye.

"Twenty bucks says she does it sooner than that," Dad joins in.

I ponder my options and reply, "I'm with Dad on this one. I don't think she can wait that long to screw me over."

"Is she really that bad?" Mom asks.

"She was mouthing the words at me throughout the entire performance like I was a child," I whine, "so yes."

The grandfather clock Mom inherited from her dad chimes loudly from the hallway, telling us it's midnight.

"Merry Christmas!" Mom shouts with glee and nudges my head with her elbow to move me off her. She returns to the sofa after a quick trip to the tree and settles next to me again, four packages in hand. "Okay, you know the rules. One present before bed."

She shares them out. I clutch the envelope she passes to me and rip it open, all thoughts of sleep out of my head and replaced with the prospect of Christmas surprises. There's a folded piece of paper tucked inside with green ribbon wrapped around its middle. Puzzled I slide the ribbon off what appears to be a print out and open it up to read it over.

_**Outward flight: 12/27/2010**_

_Flight departing from Newark Liberty, NJ, USA_

_Destination: Columbus, OH, USA_

_Number of passengers: 2_

_**Return flight: 01/02/2011**_

_Flight departing from Columbus, OH, USA_

_Destination: Newark Liberty, NJ, USA_

_Number of passengers: 2_

I look up to find both Mom and Dad staring at me, satisfied smirks on both of their faces. I'm still not sure what this is though, or what it has to do with me...

"Erm, this flight's from New Jersey?" I raise my eyebrows in query. "I'm here, I don't..."

"No it's right honey."

"Then what...?"

"You've got two visitors coming after Christmas for a visit," Dad explains.

There are only two people from New Jersey who I'd want to see. "Matt and Jade are coming to stay?" I ask hopefully.

Mom nods, and I can't help myself, I squeal in happiness. Actually squeal! And I've launched myself across the sofa at Mom. She lets out a shocked laugh and wraps her arms around me.

"I take it you like your present?"

I squeeze her tighter in response. "Thank you."

"You're welcome, baby," Mom says in my ear.

Eventually I unwrap myself from her and turn eagerly towards Saffron. "What'd you get?"

She holds up two tickets to see Katy Perry next year with a grin, and I scrabble to hold them in awe.

"Oh my god, I'm so jealous!"

"I'll take you with me," she says with a fond roll of her eyes.

"No it's fine," I say hesitantly, "you can take one of your new friends from school." Not that I give the tickets back, reverently tracing the singer's name. "One of them must like Katy Perry, right?"

I smile warmly at her, and she shrugs. "Bros before hoes, right?"

"Saffron!" Dad scolds. There's no bite in his words though.

I laugh out loud. "That's so not what that expression means."

She throws her arms around my neck from behind and kisses my cheek. "Potato, potahto."

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><p>I'm safely in my room, with the dates of Matt and Jade's flights pinned to my cork board when Dad raps his knuckles lightly on my door. I'm by the window waiting to see if Kurt will appear at his like he promised he would. Then again perhaps he already has and went to bed after waiting too long for me.<p>

"Can we talk?" Dad asks.

I shrug and turn my back on the window to give him my attention. We stare at one another awkwardly for a few moments.

"So about yesterday-" Dad begins.

"-Look, I'm sorry I didn't take Saff with me, okay!"

"Hey, let me talk." Dad raises his voice, and I slouch down against the window. "Let's just get all our cards on the table, okay? Everything out in the open; it's Christmas and I don't want any tension between us over dinner tomorrow."

"Today," I correct.

Dad chuckles to himself. "Smart ass. Okay the talk starts here."

Well, I'm not starting.

"I'm sorry about the whole theatre thing. That was wrong. I didn't think that through. I guess I just thought that Saff's been looking kind of down lately. She didn't even offer to decorate the tree, which I'm assuming is some kind of pre-teenage rebellion against our moving here."

My eyebrows rise in confusion. She didn't?

"So, that wasn't a 'subtle' way for you to tell me you don't like Kurt, and don't want me alone with him?" I snap bitterly.

"When have I ever said I don't like the kid?" Dad frowns down at me, genuinely confused by the question. "He's fine in my book, so long as he doesn't make a move on you. We all know how that worked out the last time. We hardly need a repeat."

"Dad I wasn't dating Peter!" I exclaim for what feels like the one hundred and first time. "And Kurt's not like that."

"You thought that about that Lance kid and look what happened there," Dad argues.

I jump to my feet and move the five paces to my bed, flopping down on my back and shoving my pillow over my head, frustrated by this entire conversation. When my pulse has lessened slightly I ask: "Dad can I ask you a question?"

"Sure."

"What would you say if I told you I didn't want to hide?"

Dad is silent, unmoving on the bed where he's settled beside me, and I peel the pillow from my face when the curiosity gets to be too much. Dad's rubbing his hand through his thinning hair, seeming torn between thoughts. I sit up and curl into the fetal position, like that will protect me from whatever comes out of his mouth next.

"Blaine, I understand that you like the guy, okay," Dad says eventually, head jerking towards Kurt's house. "I get that. I just... I think it's best that we keep all this in the dark for a while longer. Just until we're settled."

My mouth opens in protest, but he cuts over me in a louder voice.

"Don't think your mother hasn't told me about what's been happening to your friend at school. That'll be you too if you tell people."

"...What if I want to make him feel less alone?"

There, I said it, and I can't take the words back. Dad reaches his hand towards my knee, and retracts it before he makes contact. His mouth opens and closes a few times. I can barely breathe. But then-

"It's late. We'll talk this over some other time. After the holidays. Okay?"

_So much for getting it all out in the open,_ I think darkly. Any hope that had been snuffling the air retreats back into its burrow. "Fine."

Dad ruffles my hair like he used to when I was little and approaches the door.

"Have you uh," Dad clears his throat awkwardly. "Have you told Kurt you're..."

"Gay?" I supply dully? He nods.

This is the moment. Do I tell him the truth or keep the peace a little longer? "No. No I haven't." It's Christmas. No need to rock the boat yet.

Dad nods. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you about the tire. Work's been hectic, and I wasn't thinking." He hesitates like he wants to add more, but offers a "Merry Christmas, Blaine," instead and closes my door behind him with a snap.

I punch my pillow repeatedly and chuck it across my room, panting with the exertion. Every. Single. Damn. Time!

Not even seeing Kurt materialize at his bedroom window manages to reinstall my Christmas spirit to the level it had been. Much as I adore exchanging text messages and watching his face light up with every one, he's still a stark reminder of what I've just done.

I've omitted details before, but this is the first time Dad's asked me a direct question and I lied. And it sits uncomfortably in my chest.

To Blaine:

_Merry Christmas, Blaine._

To Kurt:

_Merry Christmas, Kurt._

To Blaine:

_That's weird. I just received a text from an unknown number saying 'Merry Xmas, Skin-Tight-Jeans. P.S. For Christmas present ideas, a certain someone enjoys seeing you in black jeans'…_

I choke on air and Kurt stares me down from his window, amused and mystified. I huff out a self-conscious laugh, hold my finger up at him to tell him to wait and yank my bedroom door open.

"Saffron Elizabeth Anderson, I'm going to kill you!"

Kurt's musical laugh from my open window is drowned out by her answering cackle.

* * *

><p><strong>AN I got kinda bored reading my own chapter, so if you did too, there's a club you can join :P Christmas Day to New Year is up next!**


	18. Christmas Confessions: Part One

**A/N Hi, I know this is much later than I intended, but in all honesty life went to hell after the last chapter. My dog's sick, and when I haven't been looking after her, I've been at work or staying at my grandparents house looking after my grandad while my nan is in hospital etc. Oh and they don't have an internet connection. I could only use my phone to access the internet unless I was at work. So yeah, nothing went to plan as ever. **

**I'm back though. Part two of this chapter needs tweaking so I'm posting it as two separate chapters. Hopefully nineteen will be up by the end of the year (fingers crossed). Thank you to everyone who is following and reviewing. I have seen them, even though I haven't responded, and they've made me smile, so thank you very much for taking the time to tell me what you think, despite the infrequency of updates.**

**Someone asked me recently if Cooper exists in this fic. He doesn't. I started writing it before he was introduced, and considering Blaine doesn't have a little sister called Saffron in canon, this is AU. **

**Warning: There is smuttier content than usual towards the end. **

**Disclaimer: I don't own Glee. If I did, I would make the effort to give it continuity. Btw I haven't seen any of Glee since 4x3 cos a) lack of internet connection and b) I'm in denial. Anyone else?**

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><p><strong>Chapter Eighteen - <strong>

"_I don't want a lot for Christmas, there is just one thing I need._

_I don't care about the presents, underneath the Christmas tree._

_I just want it for my own, more than you could ever know._

_Make my wish come true. All I want for Christmas is food!"_

I can't help the undignified snort when I wake up to Kurt's singing on Christmas morning.

"I know you hear me Blaine, wake up its' Christmas!"

He keeps up his medley of Christmas songs, while I concentrate on putting clothes on the correct body parts. Sitting on my bed for a few moments longer, I let his infectious cheer wipe the anxiety I feel about facing Dad this morning away.

BANG BANG BANG!

"If you're not downstairs in thirty seconds Blaine, I'm going to open your presents for you and throw them out the window!" Saffron threatens from outside my door.

I roll my eyes fondly because I know she's serious, and laugh at Kurt dancing around his room to Jingle Bell Rock, before leaving. My mood is so well restored by the sight of the Mom, Dad and Saffron already in the living room, that even Dad's presence - after our awkward conversation the night before - doesn't dampen my spirits. If he's feeling any tension towards me, he doesn't show it the whole day. Not when he opens the present I bought him (a bottle of cologne Kurt picked out), and not when I unwrap a tool kit from him.

"All of the tools are ones you'll be using at the garage," he says by explanation.

I smile as widely as I can and give him an awkward hug. Saffron has a coughing fit when I settle back on the couch which sounds suspiciously like the words "Cheshire" and "cat." And when Dad's preoccupied with watching Mom open one of her presents, she leans over and whispers;

"I told him to get you some socks. You know, so you'd start wearing some."

I roll my eyes. "I told him to buy you a muzzle."

Before we know it, the afternoon has turned to evening, the roast goose has been eaten, leftovers stored away, and I take the opportunity to run up to my room, grab Kurt's present and walk swiftly to his front door. Finn answers. The sweet aroma of ginger bread makes its assault on my senses, satisfying a craving I didn't even know I had, and I breathe it in deeply.

"Sup dude." Finn tells me Kurt's in the kitchen, so I wipe my feet on the doormat and slip them off my feet (socked I'll have you know). I find my way to the kitchen and lean against the door frame to watch Kurt laugh and flick flour at Carol, who has ducked behind the counter. Eventually Carol rises from her fortress, turns in my direction to grab a pastry cutter and starts at the sight of me.

"Blaine! Merry Christmas!"

I grin at Kurt over the top of Carol's shoulder, because she engulfs me in an unexpected hug. Kurt looks flustered, and wipes his floured hands against his apron, running his right one self consciously through his hair.

"I'll leave you two to talk for a second," Carol says. She doesn't realise I can see the surreptitious wink she aims at Kurt, who clears his throat once it's just us.

"I wasn't expecting to see you until tomorrow," he says.

Oh... right.

"No, no! I'm glad you came," he hurries to add. "I just thought you'd be busy."

Kurt steps towards me, glances out into the hall behind me for a second and pulls me to the side, out of sight. His mouth tastes like ginger bread, and I wish more than anything his family weren't in the next room. Kurt sneaks a few pecks on the lips though, and I pull him into a hug after, relaxing into his strong arms.

"Merry Christmas," I mumble into his ear. "I got something for you."

"I thought the Columbus thing was my present?"

"Well, yeah but that didn't exactly happen, did it," I say guiltily. "I felt bad, and it's only small because I didn't have much time, and Saff had to go get it for me because of my job and King's Island, but I tried, and I hope you like it."

Kurt huffs and pulls my forehead against his. "Of course I'll like it. It's from you."

That does nothing to ease my nerves. In fact, his words make the mouse scurrying around in my tummy do a back flip as well. I draw back and fish it out of my pocket.

"Wait wait. Let me go grab yours."

I lean against the counter, and listen to the soft thump of his feet on the stairs. He's back in front of me in record time, and we exchange gifts smiling stupidly at each other. I watch him open his first, biting my thumb nail anxiously. Kurt tilts his head at the rainbow coloured (Saff's still going to pay for that) book he pulls out from the wrapping. His hand traces the cover, and he curiously peels it open to reveal the first page.

"Kurt's treasure book," it reads.

I take it from him and reveal the blank pages. "It's not much, but with everything that's happened at McKinley with Karofsky, I thought you might like a place where you can put all the good things - photos, ticket stubs, memorable quotes, Glee club set lists - anything that made you feel good. So when you're upset, and no one is there, you can look through it and be reminded."

Kurt takes it back from me and leafs through the pages idly. "Blaine," he breathes.

"I know it's stupid," I admit, because it is.

"I love it," Kurt interrupts, and it's there I realise his eyes are shimmering with unshed tears. "It's the most thoughtful gift I've had this year. Thank you."

Oh. Okay good. Scratching the back of my head, I turn my attention to my gift. The wrapping peels off easily. It's a leather binder in a rich mahogany, A4 in size. The clip fastening it closed lifts off easily to reveal, a leather triangular slot inside, which holds several pieces of A4 paper. Sheet music I realise.

"I guess we were on a similar wave length," Kurt jokes. "I know you're just getting back into music, but Saffron mentioned to me one time that you used to play piano a lot and write her silly songs. And considering you're in glee club, I thought you might like to take that up again."

My mouth has formed an O during his explanation. I did do that. God, I haven't thought about that in so long.

"Too presumptuous?" Kurt asks. He shifts uncomfortably beside me, so I give him a warm smile; so much warmer than the one I gave Dad this morning.

"It's perfect." Placing the binder on the counter I pull him in for a kiss before my chin settles on his shoulder. "You're perfect."

I can feel rather than see Kurt's answering smile. His hand slides up and down my back for an indeterminable amount of time, time interrupted by an awkward clear of the throat and a, "Oh, sorry."

We break apart: Finn's large figure is stooped in the entrance to the kitchen, and looking at Kurt with a peculiar frown. "Mom asked me to see if Blaine's staying to help make cookies?"

"Oh no, I better get back," I say, smiling apologetically at Kurt. "I didn't actually tell my parents I was stopping by."

Finn nods once and remains in the doorway, watching us, eyes narrowed and lips pursed. I curse him internally and Kurt follows me out, brushing past Finn. I don't make it through the front door without Carol's insistence I take some ginger bread cookies home.

* * *

><p>Finn's weird behaviour slips to the back of my mind until later that night. Everyone has gone to bed, and I'm laid out on my bed, laptop in hand watching The Grinch. He's just arguing with himself over whether he should go to Whoville and accept his award as Holiday Cheermeister, when the light from Kurt's room suddenly illuminates the back wall of my bedroom.<p>

"...I just need to know that you're not doing it again," Finn's voice says.

I press pause on the movie, torn between curiosity at the conversation, and alerting them of my presence. It's none of my business.

"Will you just stop?" Kurt snarls. "Have you ever heard the saying; 'empty vessels make the most noise?'"

I creep towards the window, and can just spot Finn scratching his head, face appropriately blank.

"Uh ... actually no," Finn replies. "I don't-"

"Of course not, why would you, being an empty vessel," Kurt continues coldly. "It means, dumb people talk the loudest and most often, when what they should do is keep quiet."

Ouch! I grimace in sympathy for him. Finn's mouth hangs open for a moment, and then his face screws up in annoyance, Kurt's meaning hitting him between the eyes.

"Dude, come on! I'm just looking out for you!"

Kurt laughs derisively "_For_ me? Do you think I'm that naive? This is you trying to protect..." Kurt sends a fleeting look in my direction, and I step out of view, just in case he can see the outline of me in the darkness.

I don't hear his reply, and I want nothing more than to move the three paces towards the light switch to tell them I'm there and stop this, but I can't seem to make my legs move, and my eyes remain trained on the window.

"... first with me, then with Sam," Finn says. "Do you know what the others say about how you hang all over him? Everyone knows you've got a crush on him, dude. And if he hasn't worked it out yet, he will soon, and he's going to be _so_ embarrassed."

I take in an indignant breath, and bite back the contradiction on the tip of my tongue. How could anyone be anything other than flattered by Kurt's attention?

Kurt juts his chin out, and while I can't see his eyes from here, I'm sure they're radiating with barely contained rage, judging from the nervous step back Finn takes.

"Embarrassed. About. What?" Kurt bites out.

Finn ducks his head, but seeming to gain confidence in his next words, rolls his shoulders and says loud and clear. "Hanging all over him, isn't going to make Blaine like you."

"Shhh!" Kurt throws a nervous glance at my window again. "Shut up."

"No! Did you even listen to me last time? No means no, remember? He's with Santana-"

"Shut up!" Kurt hisses. "His bedroom is right there you stupid...!"

Finn blanches at the sight of my house. "Oh right, I forgot about that. Kurt I-"

"No, you listen to me Finn Hudson." I have to inch gingerly closer to the window to try and hear him now. "Seeing as you seem to think I've forgotten what _you_ said, I'm going to remind _you_ of something important. Being gay doesn't make you predatory."

"Man, I didn't say-"

"You confronting me, and telling me to stay away every time you suspect I like a guy, implies that that's exactly what you think of me. Just because you felt uncomfortable around me last year, doesn't mean that _every_ guy will. The world doesn't revolve around your limited understanding of it."

Kurt's voice has gained in pitch, and that's the catalyst for me to stop this. I hurry towards my door, open it and flick the light switch on; anything to stop Kurt's voice trembling.

"Kurt?" Finn says timidly

"We'll talk later," Kurt says with finality. "Get out of my room."

The click of Kurt's door indicates that he's now alone. I dawdle close to my bed. I'm torn between sitting down and pretending I didn't hear, and checking on him at the window.

"I know you heard that, Blaine," Kurt says timidly.

Busted! Reluctantly I settle on the window ledge. He's relocated to the window too, defeated form curled over, head on his knee. I don't fully understand that conversation, but something tells me there's more to the step brothers than Kurt's ever told me before. For that reason alone, I reign in my furious thoughts towards Finn. I don't know all the facts.

We're silent for a few minutes, Kurt rubbing his forehead on his jeans.

"Do you want to talk about it?" I ask hesitantly.

Kurt lifts his head up long enough to shake it and settles against the window pane. "No. Not now."

He looks so exhausted all of a sudden, so I let it go. At least until tomorrow.

* * *

><p>"Blaine Anderson, don't you dare!"<p>

"Don't dare what?"

"Blaine, I'm warning you..."

"What am I doing?"

"Blaine!"

A screech echoes around the clearing when I tackle him around the waist.

"Oof!"

We land in the thick fresh snow below us, his lean body encased within it like a cocoon. The field is barely touched by human tracks as far as the eye can see, making it the perfect place for me to bring him on Boxing Day. Kurt's curiosity convinced him to follow me blindly into the car, and allow me to drive him to the secluded destination I wheedled out of Santana earlier this morning. I pin Kurt on his back triumphantly.

"What, you mean this?" I query cheekily.

Kurt is too caught by surprise to speak, but it doesn't render him incapable of hitting at me, so I grab his gloved hands and hold them in the snow above his head.

"Blaine, don't. Let me up, my hair is getting wet!"

"It's fine."

"I don't like it when my hair gets messed up."

"You shouldn't have started a snow ball fight then." Honestly it's simple logic. He can't argue with that. "And besides, you didn't mind me messing your hair up on Christmas Eve."

Kurt blushes and squirms beneath me, clearly remembering our time in the car. "Thanks for that by the way," Kurt narrows his eyes and stick his lips out petulantly. "My entire family noticed that and wouldn't stop questioning me. Finn, the big oaf said it didn't look out of place at Mr Shue's."

I release his arms, but instead of pushing me off him, he folds them over his chest grumpily, like he's forgotten his previous attempts to fight me off.

"The one time Finn chooses to be observant," I say with a roll of the eyes and lean down to trace my tongue over his exposed Adams apple. I've never done this before, and I watch his reaction eagerly.

Kurt swallows thickly and bites his lower lip, breath laboured. "I know, right?" Kurt swipes his hand through my hair, seemingly fascinated by the tiny droplets of snow that scatter from his ministrations. "You look serious, all of a sudden," he observes with a questioning tilt of the head.

I lower my head below his chin for a moment and mumble, "About Finn..."

"No," Kurt whines and covers his face with his arms.

"You don't have to tell me anything," I say hastily and try to pry his arms away. "Stop hiding. I missed your face yesterday."

His arms don't budge. "You brought me here to talk about Finn?"

"Actually I brought you here because I spent all day yesterday going stir crazy because you were next door. The time in the kitchen wasn't enough. Besides, you seemed like you needed to get away from him for a little while."

Suddenly I'm on my own back, and Kurt's pinning me down. How on earth did he manage that manoeuvre? Why is that so damn hot?

"Uh oh," he says with a triumphant smirk, and clamps his hands over my wrists to hold them in place, as I had his.

"Do your worst, Hummel," I challenge. "My hair's already in its natural state. It can't get much worse."

Kurt feigns thought and reaches over my head, brushing the snow into a pile behind me. "Well, I could always wet your hair down with the snow and make a Mohawk?" Kurt laughs musically at my horror and finds the gap between my coat buttons to tickle my stomach over my sweater.

"I'm not Puck," I wheeze, squirming away from him. "And stop trying to distract me."

Kurt sobers and huffs out a frustrated breath. "It was just Finn being an ass. He ..."

"It sounded like you'd had that conversation before," I wonder aloud.

"You could say that." Kurt gets off of me and lies down with his head cushioned on my chest. His hand wraps around my scarf and clutches it tightly. "It's embarrassing."

"I won't laugh," I say honestly. "You saw the most humiliating part of my life on video. There's nothing you can tell me that will surpass that."

"Wanna bet?"

"You don't have to tell me."

Kurt's silent for a long time. I think he's taken my words to heart and opted against telling me-

"IusedtohaveacrushonFinn."

"Pardon?"

"I. Used. To. Have. A. Crush. On. Finn," he repeats and hides his face in my thick coat.

I blink stupidly. "I- what?"

"It was last year," he explains, muffled through the fabric. "I was young, stupid, and he wasn't my step brother yet. I introduced Dad and Carol at a parent/teacher conference and they moved in three months later."

I take a shuddering breath, overwhelmed by the bitter fire that encases my stomach. It has never occurred to me, I would ever have cause to be jealous of Finn. And yet here we are. "You got over it though, right?"

Kurt jabs me in the stomach. "Of course I'm over it!" he snaps.

"Sorry," I grimace. Stupid question.

"For a while it was really awkward though. He – he didn't feel comfortable with my feelings for him, and, well to cut a really long story short, he lost his temper with me and called me a... fag."

I bolt upright, forgetting he's in my lap, and my chest knocks against his nose.

"Ow!" Kurt yells out and claps his hand to his face.

"Shoot, sorry!" I exclaim and press my fingers into his shoulder, swiping my thumb gingerly over his nose with the other hand.

"It's okay. I probably shouldn't have said that so abruptly," Kurt says reasonably, and blinks through the fresh tears. "Yes he called me that, well sort of. He was calling my interior design faggy, and it escalated. He said sorry, I forgave him. End."

"But-"

"Shh, he didn't mean to."

"But still..." The mere idea of anyone calling Kurt ... that word, makes my blood boil. For the person to be _Finn_though?

"Do you want to hear the story or not?"

I let my hackles down begrudgingly, and curl my fingers with his. We're both sat up now and facing one another.

Kurt pinches the bridge of his nose, testing it for further damage, before taking up his story again. "Then when Sam came to school – not that long before you actually – he was going to sing a duet with me for Glee club. Finn warned me off the idea. I think he thought I was going to throw myself at Sam."

The puzzle pieces slot together easily now. "He thinks you're doing it again," I sum up.

"Bingo."

Kurt flops back down in the snow. He seems to have lost all reservation concerning his hair getting wet. I bite my lip guiltily. The feeling is making its grand return, like a town crier with intent to remind me of all my flaws. Finn may have been the catalyst for the dejected furrow of his usually smooth face, but I'm the one who made this have to happen this way.

What if Kurt had been able to tell the truth last night? To wipe the superior look off Finn's face and prove him wrong?

"You know he's wrong, right?"

Kurt lifts himself up onto his elbows, ignoring the way the wet snow seeps through his coat. "Of course I know."

"No I mean, I know we're not telling everyone yet, but... I need you to know that I could never be embarrassed by you. Not like Finn was, or maybe even Sam felt." I touch my gloved knuckle to the apple of his cheek. "You're the best thing that's ever happened to me."

The words jumble together, in their rush to escape, but it's worth saying for the jubilant smile Kurt directs at me. He crawls onto my lap and knocks the wind out of me when our mouths slot together. There's no hesitation, no casual exploration - just pure unadulterated want, so unlike any of our other kisses which have been cautious in comparison. He tugs my lower lip down playfully, and I gasp at the shock of electricity that shivers down my spine. Suddenly his tongue's a demanding presence in my mouth and I clutch him closer still, chest to chest, his thighs straddled over mine.

He pulls back with a shuddering breath. "You're the best thing that," he whimpers when I trail kisses down his jaw, "ever happened to me too." He blindly seeks out my mouth again, and rocks forward at the hips in his haste to get there.

We gasp out loud at the same time when his crotch rubs up against mine. He freezes his movement, eyes wide with shock. Hesitantly, he brushes his hips forwards again, and I can't bite back a moan.

"Good?" Kurt asks. I look up into his hooded eyes. The usually clear blue irises are barely visible through an unfamiliar but no less welcome shroud of dark lust. He doesn't wait for an answer and rolls his hips forward with more force.

"Ah! Oh god yes," I groan. "Kurt, you don't have to..."

Kurt cuts me off at the lips, and clings to me, one hand clutched around my neck, the other digging into my shoulder blade for leverage. That's when I feel it, the press of hardness against my own erection.

"So good!" he mumbles against my lips. "Like it."

It's far too warm. Kurt's too warm. The snow is too warm. My hand travels to the belt secured above the swell of his ass and my palm presses him into my groin harder. Even through our jeans, the friction is amazing. Kurt's movements above me unsteady, unpractised and lacking in rhythm, but god I don't care. After a few minutes of shameless rocking up to meet his surprisingly talented hips, an unwelcome niggle makes its presence in the back of my mind.

"Kurt," I say.

He ignores me and continues to nose at my ear lobe, relentlessly grinding back and forth.

"Kurt, if we don't stop we're going to have an accident."

Why the hell am I saying this? Don't stop!

"Don't care," he whispers into my neck.

Me neither. "You will if it ruins your clothes," I hear myself say from some other planet.

That stops him. Kurt buries his head in my coat in frustration. "Why would you say that?" he whines.

I have absolutely no idea.

Kurt nuzzles into me once, lifts his head and goes rigid in my arms. I look up in confusion as his hand tightens against my shoulder. He's not looking at me though. His eyes are wide, staring over my shoulder.

"Kurt?"

"There's a girl over there," he whispers, and drops to his knees in the snow beside me. My head whips around in that direction just in time to see a girl in a bright red trench coat disappear behind a cluster of trees.

"Shit!" Kurt scrambles to his feet and pulls me up with him. "I think she saw us."

He turns and trudges quickly the way we came, towards the car. Rushing after him, I try not to think too much of his hurry to leave. It probably just spooked him. This was the most intimate we've ever been, and it has been witnessed by some girl. What are the chances she was someone we both know? It's fine.

Kurt's worried though. I can see it in the hunch of his shoulders as we climb into the car, the worry line across his brow as we shiver in the freezing interior, waiting for the heat to kick in.

I wait for him to speak. After a long silence, he turns to me and bites his lip. "I recognise her." Any hope I had of it being a stranger drains out of me. "I saw her that time I picked up Saffron for you. When you were sick?"

My mouth works up and down on its hinge. "So she..."

"She knows your sister."

* * *

><p>AN If anyone knows who the girl is you'll get a virtual cookie. Matt and Jade's visit is up next.


	19. Christmas Confessions: Part Two

**A/N: Hi, it's me again. **

**To anyone who has been following this story for the last few years, I am so sorry I haven't updated in nearly two years. Long story short I lost three relatives and my dog between the last update in Dec 2012 and the summer of 2014, and there was just too much drama in reality to commit myself to fanfiction. Then once life had calmed down I had some serious writer's block that I managed to cure by writing my other klaine fic The Warbler is a Tramp. **

**I promise that I will finish this story, no matter how long it takes, and I thank anyone who is still here for your patience. I also won't blame you if you don't care anymore, because I had to re-read my own story to get the plot back into my head.**

**I hope this update isn't a total let down after so long between updates. **

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Nineteen - Christmas Confessions Part Two<strong>

I feel oddly calm the next day when Mom and I drive to Columbus to pick Matt and Jade up from the airport, which from my experience can only be a bad thing. You're supposed to feel an anxious press of dread against your gut, when your equilibrium is thrown into a state of unrest. Instead, the knowledge that some girl might have a) seen me kissing Kurt in the middle of a field, and b) could spread it to everyone my sister knows, and the rest of Lima if she felt so inclined, isn't bothering me like it should.

Kurt's bothered. We'd driven back to Lima in a tense silence, only punctuated by the odd toot of a horn, and an unexpected smattering of hail stones against the windscreen. His shoulders were up to his ears the entire journey, and even reaching across the console for his hand and rubbing my thumb over his palm hadn't helped soothe him.

I lean against the railing at the arrivals gate. Jade and Matt's flight landed ten minutes ago. Mom keeps giving me odd looks from the corner of her eye, so I try arranging my face so it appears less solemn. It's not that I'm not excited to see my best friends again, there's just a lot going on in my head right now.

Maybe I'm just in denial. When things take a bad turn, you expect everything to be drastically altered immediately. For there to be some discernible difference - I'd half expected to return home and suffer through a berating from Dad, like the news would spread that fast, and I'd be whisked off to yet another state. Nothing of the sort happened though. Mom and Dad are none the wiser, and I spent the evening with Saffron, lost in my own thoughts. If she caught onto my mood, she didn't comment.

A squeal catches my attention, and before I know what is happening I have two arms full of Jade.

"Oh my God, it's you!" she squeals.

I chuckle and give Matt a befuddled look. Who else would I have been?

Matt manages to pull her off me with a, "Let the man breathe," and yanks me into a one armed embrace. Upon letting go he appraises me. "Have you shrunk?"

"No you've just gotten taller," Mom says from behind us. "Come on, grab your baggage and we'll be on our way."

I don't really get a word in edgeways on the way home, because Matt and Jade are intent on telling me everything they hadn't over the phone in the last few months.

"Cassie Ganning is pregnant!" Jade opens with, "and no one knows who the father is, because she used to brag about going to New York on the weekends for college parties. Rumor has it; it might be Coach Harris' kid though."

Mom gives an uncomfortable cough from the driver's seat.

"Jade, there's no proof of that!" Matt exclaims. "And if we're going for gossip, Kyle Rogers was caught in a girls' restroom looking over the cubicle walls at girls while they peed. He got expelled."

"Should have got him out of that school sooner," Mom mutters disapprovingly from beside me.

I ignore her. "What about me?" I've never asked them what people said when I left. Mostly because I want to put the experience behind me, but part of me is scared everyone is horrible about my absence. Or even worse, what if no one has noticed?

Matt and Jade exchange a look in the back seat, I see it in Mom's rear view mirror.

"Well uh, someone made up a rumor that you died," Jade says.

Original.

"I think the most entertaining one was the girl who insisted you'd joined the bath house circuit," Matt supplies.

"What's the bath house-"

"It's nothing, Mom. It's just a group of people who like to... buy baths," I interrupt, shooting daggers at Matt who has the decency to look sheepish.

"Anyway, mostly people just talk about the asshole that drove you out," Jade says darkly. "Sorry for the language, Mrs A."

"I raised Saffron, Jade. I'm used to it," Mom says.

"Why do they talk about Peter?" I ask.

"Oh, well they're um..." Matt shifts in his seat, the safety belt adjusting with him. "Since you left, there's been a rumor going around school that he dragged you out of the closet because he wanted people distracted from his own sexuality."

"Wait, seriously?"

"Yeah."

"Huh." I thought if anything my absence would reaffirm his position as a jock, not cause the homophobia to transfer to him.

Mom's knuckles whiten over the steering wheel as she listens. "Kids, I think we can all agree that this conversation should not reach the ears of Blaine's father," she says before either can elaborate.

All three of us nod, and the topic is dropped. I'm not sure I want to hear about it anyway. I may dislike the asshole, but I know what being talked about like that feels like. I wouldn't wish the wrath of the student body on anyone.

Mom's hand squeezes my shoulder momentarily when we pause at a stop light. Her smile is sad, and the deeper lines in her forehead and the crinkles of her eyes contort and age her. It occurs to me I've never really asked her what her opinion is of Dad's plan to keep me in the closet. I figure she doesn't favor the idea particularly, but maybe she wants me to be honest too.

* * *

><p>Jade and Matt don't officially meet Kurt until the following evening. Only a couple of hours after we arrive at my new home, I have to drive to King's Island and rehearse and perform, leaving them with Saffron for entertainment. Which in retrospect might have been a bad idea. She showed them the 'wild life documentary' she's been making in her spare time about my interactions with Kurt, and it turns out, that one time she filmed me talking to him at the door has turned into a regular thing.<p>

Anyway, they're not formerly introduced until the next evening when Mom and Dad bring them to see me perform. As if I'm not anxious enough about my closest friends seeing me perform for the first time in two years, Kurt happens to have brought the entire glee club with him.

I peek nervously around the curtain and spot Jade in the crowd, looking at Brittany like she's just pulled a fish out of her butt. I'm too nervous to even laugh at that. I swallow to wet my dry mouth.

"Okay Curly Sue, let's see if you can go an entire performance without messing something up and stealing the spotlight," Kendra says from behind me.

I scowl. She pats down her festive 1950s style dress and swishes it about experimentally. I would admire the deep red of the beautifully layered skirt, the modest cut of the halter straps, and the accompanying shawl she's draped around her arms ready to float behind her, but well… it's Kendra.

"Maybe if you could tread somewhere other than on my feet, we wouldn't have a problem," I say through gritted teeth. I gave up being nice to her a week ago. I think Kurt and Santana might be rubbing off on me...

She tosses her hair haughtily behind her. "It's not my fault you're always in the wrong place. Stop talking to him Kendra. He's just a stepping stone towards stardom. After New Year you'll be on to bigger and brighter things."

The drum roll preceding the start of Baby Its' Cold Outside sounds up, so I bow mockingly low and gesture for her to enter ahead of me. She shoves me into the curtain and immediately adopts a toothy smile the moment she moves out onto the stage. I roll my eyes and follow after her with an appropriately love-struck smile of my own.

And something is wrong. Her shawl is trailing closer to the ground than usual, and when she spins on her heel to face me and sing, "I really can't stay," the end catches on her heel.

"But baby it's cold outside," I answer and glance meaningfully down at it and back up at her during my lines, trying to communicate the problem.

She ignores me as usual, and spins away, stumbling slightly when the material wrapped around her arms tightens against her skin. She catches herself with barely a slip in her show-face and carries on seemingly unaware of the heel issue.

"This evening has been, so very nice," she sings.

Instead of covering her hands like I normally do at this point, I shimmy behind her and place my hands on her shoulders in an attempt to cover up the fact I've strategically placed my foot on the shawl, hopefully unhooking it from her heel.

It rips instead, and the tear of fabric startles Kendra. She shoots me a hostile glare and tries to dance away from me warily…. except my foot is still on the shawl. Instead of whirling away as she intended, she's pulled backwards, and with a yelp into her microphone, Kendra stumbles into me with such momentum I can't get a grip on her. We're both propelled backwards, Kendra landing on top of me with an unceremonious thud.

The band in the orchestra pit stops playing. The crowd is laughing, positively delighted by the slip up. Kendra's hair is in my mouth. I try to spit it out, only for her to scream in rage and slap at me, over and over. I block her with my forearm over my head. And then she does what I'm not brave enough to do, she looks out into the crowd, tears pooling the corners of her eyes.

"I'm – I'm sorry," I splutter. "It was caught."

"I hate you," she sobs, and pulls herself clumsily to her feet.

She gives the crowd one last humiliated look and flees the stage, leaving me to curl up in a ball and hide my face in the fabric of my pants. Hide. Hide from the laughter all around me, and the faces of people mocking me. On a stage. Again.

I assume the curtain must have fallen as a barrier between me and the crowd by now, because the shouts have dulled to a buzz of interest. No doubt the director is going to pounce and fire me. Kendra will make sure of that.

"I really can't stay..."

My head shoots up at the familiar voice. My mouth drops open in shock. Rachel has found her way onto the stage, picked up Kendra's dropped microphone and has her hand held out to me.

I stare, dumfounded.

She shoots a sheepish look at the crowd, and sings out again, "I said, 'I really can't stay.'" She waves her hand in my face for a moment, and I take hold of it so she can help me up. "Show must go on," she whispers and nods at me to do my part.

"But… baby its' cold outside?" I sing unsurely.

Rachel is beaming. She squeezes my hand and sings, "I've got to go away."

I find Kurt in the crowd. His eyes are pointed half incredulously, half proudly at Rachel, but they land on me a moment later, and his expression warms.

"But baby its' cold outside," I counter, and wipe my eyes. When did I start crying?"

"Sing along everyone!" Rachel calls to the audience and giggles when the crowd sings with her: "This evening has been, so very nice!"

"I'll hold your hands," I squeeze her warm palm, and bring it to my mouth for a little kiss, "they're just like ice."

The orchestra comes back in at this point, and we're away, improvising some new choreography right up until the last note. I pull Rachel into a grateful hug. The crowd applauds louder than any other night I've performed here.

"Trust you to spot an opportunity when you see it," I mumble in her ear.

She smiles against my neck and replies, "I do believe I just found my new duet partner."

* * *

><p>"What is it with you and unfortunate stage incidents?" Jade says from the front passenger seat on the way home.<p>

I laugh good naturedly along with her, Saffron, and Peter. It feels a lot less traumatic now I know the director has fired Kendra and not me. Bless Rachel and her insatiable desire to be in the spotlight at all times. I pull into the driveway behind Mom and Dad's car, and watch Saffron clamber out the back.

"Are you okay, bee?" Matt asks, resting his chin on the back of Jade's seat and examining me.

"I'm actually am," I say. "This is gonna' sound really weird, but I think I needed something like that to happen. The world won't end if I stuff up on stage. Who knew?"

"Technically the Peter incident wasn't a mess up," Jade reasons, "more of a hostile invasion. I'm glad you're performing again though. You were always happier on stage."

Yeah, I really am.

Kurt's navigator pulls into the driveway next door, and I watch as Finn lumbers out of the front passenger seat, Kurt sliding out on the driver's side and following behind his step brother to the house. I catch his attention before he can close the front door with a little wave. He returns the gesture with a warm smile of his own.

"Kurt seems nice," Jade says.

"Yeah, he is."

* * *

><p>I don't see Kurt at all the next day. He, Finn, Carole and Burt are having dinner around Carole's folks place as a post-Christmas get together, which means I have an entire day to show Jade and Matt around Lima; a tour which gets better when we stumble across Santana and Brittany at the Lima Bean, because Brittany insists they channel their inner tour guide and help.<p>

"That's where Lord Tubbington first met the love of his life," Brittany says in the park. "She's playing hard to get."

"Over here we have the field the Lima Losers hang out in to relive their glory days from 1993," Santana drawls, when we find ourselves walking toward the football pitch at McKinley.

It's a nice day overall, but it loses a lot of its warmth when a group of Letterman jackets enter Breadstix and sit a few booths over from us.

"Crap."

"That's tragic," Santana says. "Even I won't wear the Cheerios uniform during the holidays."

She tells Brittany, who is sat next to me in the booth to move, and slides in beside me draping an arm around my neck. I try and shift away from her, but she fists her fingers into my sweater. "They still think you're my boyfriend, dumbass, stop squirming."

"Still?" Matt asks with a raised eyebrow.

Santana shrugs. "Please, they couldn't question his sexuality with someone this hot on his cock."

Half my soda goes up my nose.

Santana watches me splutter with amusement before adding, "Oops, I meant 'arm'. Azimio's spotted us. Shall we gets our mack on?"

I pinch her arm. Her answering smirk tells me she understands it as a 'hell no.'

Jade, who was busy surveying the scene before her with a calculating look, peers discreetly behind her long enough to decide we've stayed long enough and gestures to our waitress for the bill. Only when we're safely a few blocks over from Breadstix do I breathe a sigh of relief and tug my hand out of Santana's grip.

"By the way, Puckerman's having a party tomorrow night," Santana says. "It's sort of a pre-New Year's thing. His mom's away so he wants an excuse to break into the liquor cabinet. You're coming."

She hooks her arm through Brittany's and pulls her away before I can so much as open my mouth. Brittany waves and skips alongside her.

A party at Puck's? That can't possibly go wrong.

* * *

><p>Rachel answers the door when Kurt, Matt, Jade and I arrive at Puck's house a little after nine the next day. She's wearing what looks to be a long, pale green night dress with old fashioned ruffles. Kurt looks like he wants to vomit on it.<p>

"You made it! Hey!" she squeals, oblivious to the horrified stares, and pulls Kurt in by the elbow. "We've got wine coolers."

"Rach, honey, please tell me you chose that outfit under the influence of alcohol," Kurt deadpans.

"No, it's my party dress," she says and swishes it back and forth.

"Then you better show me these wine coolers, because this will be a long night otherwise," Kurt replies. "I'll get you guys something too," he adds for our benefit, allowing himself to be lead towards the kitchen.

The rest of the glee club are in the living room in various states of sobriety. Mike, Sam and Puck are in the middle of a heated game of Mario Kart, eyes glued to the big screen television secured to the wall, Brittany is sat in Artie's lap with her mouth fused to his, and Mercedes, Tina and Quinn are a giggling mess on the sofa.

I make to reintroduce Jade and Matt to the group, but it proves unnecessary. Jade already has a tentative friendship brewing with Mercedes and Quinn from the night before, and Matt immediately takes over Mike's Wii control when Tina pulls him out of the room, no doubt for a private make out.

Two hours, three rum and diet sodas and a raucous game of strip poker later, the music has been cranked up. The glee club has lost too many items of clothing for my liking, which is completely unfair because Kurt hasn't removed his scarf, let alone a shirt.

I'm happy to sit back and watch the antics around me from the floor though, leaning against the sofa. Mostly because Kurt's on the sofa above me, deep in conversation with Mercedes, and keeps running his fingers gently through my hair. It's the most affectionate Kurt has ever been with me in front of his friends, and I'm happy to lap up the attention while the others (and Finn especially) are too drunk to notice.

I close my eyes and hum when Kurt's fingers cause a particularly delicious shiver to run down my spine.

"Well, you're being dull," Santana's voice observes.

I blink my eyes open. She has spent the night playing strip poker with Puck, Brittany, Finn, Mike, Tina and Artie, but the game seems to have broken up now.

"Did Brittany lose?" I say, in reference to Brittany's current state of undress (She is down to her bra and hot pants).

"Actually she's weirdly good at poker," Santana drawls. "She's just confused about when to take her clothes off. She does it after every game, win or lose."

She straddles my legs, running her fingers up and down my torso, and before I can stop it, her lips are pressing into mine. I squirm beneath her, taken completely off guard. She pulls away to glare at me.

"Santana, what are you doing?" I splutter.

"Quit your whining and pretend we're still a couple. Open your fucking mouth." She forces her tongue through my teeth and I squeeze my eyes tightly shut, willing myself not to freak out over the action.

"Can't we do it without the tongue?" I protest between kisses.

"If you want it to look fake." She hauls me to my feet and pushes me up against the nearest wall. "Try to look like you're enjoying it," she orders and dives back in.

"Get it, Anderson!" Artie hollers from somewhere across the room.

Breaking away from her again, I press my lips against the juncture where her shoulder meets her neck and hope any onlookers think it's affectionate.

"How about we follow my lead?" he suggests.

She snorts. "Whatever, just make it convincing."

I grab her hand and pull her towards the door. "Puck we're using your room," I call out.

Cheers and hoots go up all round. I try and ignore the daggers Jade is shooting me, the amused puzzlement Matt's finding it difficult to disguise.

Kurt's no longer with Mercedes. I scan the room as we ascend the stairs but he's disappeared entirely. Only once we're safely inside Puck's bedroom with the door locked, do I relax and flop down on the bed, head buried in the covers. Santana perches beside me and pulls her phone out from her cleavage.

"So how long we staying here?"

"I don't know, 20 minutes?"

Santana laughs. "No one will buy that you lasted_ that _long."

"Fuck off!"

"He swears! We should give you alcohol more often."

"I should give you a muzzle," I grumble.

Ten minutes later I grow tired of watching her shoot birds at green pigs, and walk around Puck's room. It's not as untidy as I expected. The sheets are clean at the very least, and besides the band posters all over the walls, the rips in the wall paper and occasional stain on the carpet, the clutter of instruments and boxes of condoms, I'm pretty sure there aren't any dead animals festering here.

The back yard seems neat too from what I can see out of his window, dim lamps illuminate the lawn, water feature and the figure tucked away in a patio chair, head on his knees.

Kurt.

I look at the time. It's been 15 minutes now.

"Go."

I'm startled by her appearance behind me. She's looking at Kurt too.

"Go see your boy."

I don't need telling again. We walk down stairs to little fan fair, and I slip inside the kitchen and out onto the patio under the guise of getting a drink for Santana and I.

"Kurt?"

"Oh, hey." He lifts his head from his knees and wipes surreptitiously at his eyes.

"You're upset," I begin.

"No, no I'm just... I had dust in my eye and I came out to clear it." Kurt makes to get up from the chair but I crouch down in front of him and place my forearms on his thighs, looking up at him.

"What happened?"

"Nothing, Nothing I..."

"Please don't cry."

Kurt laughs derisively at me through a sob. "It's a little late for that, Blaine."

Picking his chin up from his chest with my index finger, he meets my eyes sadly and blinks another tear away. I wipe it. "Talk to me."

Kurt's silent for a really long time. "Why does she have to do that in front of me?" he whispers.

I tilt my head. "Do what? And who?"

"Santana," Kurt says, suddenly very interested in wiping at the back of his hand. "I know you're not actually ... attracted to her and you're both keeping up appearances, but..." he swallows. I wait for him to continue. "I hate having to see it. I feel like she's rubbing it in my face."

"Rubbing - what?" I splutter. "Kurt, she's not got anything to rub in your face. She's ... she's not you. I-"

Kurt's chin trembles, and his hands have clenched against the arms of the chair, like he's seriously considering walking away from me. Away from this conversation, and whatever it is he's holding back.

"Kurt, please don't bottle this up," I plead. "If I'm doing something wrong I need you to tell me. I don't know what I'm doing."

"I- I'm afraid that if I tell you this, you'll disappear," Kurt admits.

I wipe another tear off his face, suddenly very thankful for all the times I've ever had to comfort Saffron, Matt or Jade. It's ten times harder when you're the one who's caused the upset, but I don't feel as out of my element as I would have.

"Try me."

"It doesn't matter that I'm the one you're actually with," Kurt begins, "because as far as everyone else is concerned it's her you're dating." I open my mouth to argue but he covers it with his hand. "I'm not okay with it. I know I said I was but I lied, okay!" His voice is rising now and he quiets, glancing at Puck's house for a moment. "I hate having to watch her kiss you and act like it doesn't hurt-"

"Kurt-"

"-Because it feels like you're cheating on me!" Kurt exclaims. "It feels like the pair of you are rubbing it in my face and showing me what I can't have... a boyfriend who will... admit he's with me."

I'm stunned by the accusation, and a hot charge of irritation spikes up my spine.

"Cheating on you? You think I'm ... okay." I pinch the bridge of my nose in frustration. "How can you know Santana and I are not actually together, but then consider her acting like she's my girlfriend cheating? It's fake, Kurt. Fake." I get up and walk to the other side of the patio. When I turn back Kurt has followed me.

"If I turned around and kissed someone else in that house, how would you feel?" Kurt hisses.

"If it was Quinn or Mercedes or Tina or even Brittany I would be okay with it, because they're _girls_," I snap.

"I'll go in there right now then! Brit's kissed me before, maybe she'd like a round two," Kurt jabs back.

I drag my hands over my face and try to calm my temper with a steadying breath. Imagining that makes me feel a little sick to my stomach. Kurt takes my silence as a sign to continue and steps toward me, his sneer lessened by the tears in his eyes.

"Imagine me kissing someone else, in a room full of other people," Kurt says. I close my eyes against the image he paints. "Now imagine yourself powerless to stop it, or even speak up against it, because you know I'm ashamed of people knowing I'm with you. Because there's another person entirely dictating who can and cannot know."

"You think I don't know what that feels like? I've been powerless from the moment I moved here, Kurt! I know what that's like."

"Then why can't you see how I feel when you kiss someone else and I can't speak up?" Kurt demands. "Because I can't, not without hurting you. See it from my side, I dare you. I'm pressed up against someone else entirely and you can't do a damn thing about it. How does it feel?"

I take a shuddering breath, fighting back the green monster clawing in my belly. I would hate it.

"How would you feel, Blaine?" Kurt yells. "Like shit? Like you don't matter? Because that's how I feel right now. I feel like you're so intent on making sure your father can't find out that you don't think about the person you're supposed to be in a relationship with."

"Kurt-"

"-And now there's a chance a middle school kid will 'out' you, and however people look at this, I'm going to be the bad guy. Everyone will just bask in their ignorance and assume I'm the gay guy who preyed on and converted you. Because as far as everyone else is concerned, you have a girlfriend."

"Kurt," I try again weakly.

"My own freaking step brother already thinks I'm doing that!"

"Kurt." I step forward and envelope him in my arms. "Stop."

He struggles to free himself, but eventually slumps against me, heaving sobs against my neck. We stay like that for so long I lose track of time, shushing and rubbing at his back. At one point Quinn comes out to see what all the quarrelling is about, but I shake my head meaningfully and she nods and walks back inside, patio door closed with a snap.

"I'm not ashamed," I mumble into his hair. "We've got to stop coming back to this." I steer him back towards the patio furniture and sit him back down again. He doesn't fight the movement.

"Sorry," Kurt says, and wipes at his eyes.

"No, no, I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry, Kurt. You're right. I shouldn't have - Santana assumed we were continuing with the relationship thing after I told her the truth, and I just didn't stop it because it was easier. I should have realized what it would do to you once we were together. I... I get it."

Kurt takes a shuddering breath. "I - I didn't mean for it to all tumble out like that," he admits. "I guess I've just been stressing over the whole getting caught thing, and then Rachel sang with you at King's Island. And I wanted to be that person. And you've been distracted with Jade and Matt, and then Santana mauled your face and... I'm pathetic."

"No, I'm pretty sure I hold that crown," I say bitterly. I really am pathetic.

"It all just boiled over. I keep checking Facebook and Jacob's stupid gossip blog for information about us, but so far there's nothing," Kurt carries on like I never spoke.

I rub my thumb into his hipbone soothingly. "Maybe that means she didn't recognize either of us."

"Hmmm," Kurt doesn't seem convinced.

"It'll be fine, I'm sure."

"Why aren't you more worried?" Kurt says, genuinely confused. "I feel like I'm the only one freaking out here."

Well there's the million dollar question. I rest my head on his shoulder a moment, thinking. The truth is, I've lost interest in caring whether people know or not.

At least back in Jersey I didn't have to hide. Yeah, I hated the scrutiny and the bullying, but I was getting to be myself. Had I been able to do that in the first place, Santana wouldn't have turned me into her unwilling tonsil tennis partner. I wouldn't be lying to my friends on a daily basis. Had I not been in the closet, it would have saved Kurt a lot of heartache.

Sometimes it feels like I can't breathe, knowing I've already disappointed Dad by telling Kurt and Santana the truth, and he doesn't even know it yet. I dread what he'll have to say when he does find out. But hurting Kurt like this is unbearable.

"I guess I just already know what it's like to be forced out. It can't be much worse than the first time, right?"

"Don't jinx it," Kurt says flatly and grabs my hands in his. "I'm not asking you to come out. I just don't want you to have a girlfriend. It hurts. I can't ignore that part when she's parading it in front of me."

I sigh, resting my head against our hands in his lap. Honestly, telling the truth is starting to sound like a mercy.

"I'll sort it with Santana, okay?"

* * *

><p><strong>TADA! I'm gonna go hide now.<strong>


End file.
